The White Black Witch
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: A summer adventure! It has all the things: myth, legend, magic, traveling, camping (yes, camping). A new prophecy holds the solution to the problem of magic's demise, but The Golden Trio will need help from an unlikely source to unravel its mystery. Eventual incest.
1. The Prophecy is Delivered

_The Prophecy Is Delivered_

It stormed. Flashes of lightning threw shadows against richly hued stone walls, and occasionally deepened the creases on the old witch's face. A troubled face. She reached within her burgundy dressing gown and withdrew her wand. It's friendly familiarity warmed her fingers, but still - the stirring tingle of magic was slow in coming. In fact, even slower tonight. Her lips pursed.

"Still up for that hot toddy?"

McGonagall turned from the window at the quiet question. "Poppy. Of course, I am."

Hogwarts' mediwitch was still in her uniform, save for her trim white bonnet. Her golden brown hair curled around a heart-shaped face. She closed the Headmistress' office door and summoned an overstuffed chair. It took her a few tries and some concentration before the spell took hold, and even then the chair scraped ridiculously across the floor. She tisked, but sat, tired.

"How are the students in the infirmary?" Minerva produced a dusty bottle of firewhiskey from within her lumbering cherry desk.

Poppy shook her head. "They're afraid mostly. They don't understand what's happening."

"Well. None of us do." She handed the other witch a tumbler. "And even I am afraid."

Poppy stared into her libation. Swirled the amber liquid with wizened fingers. "Do you think it's true? What the Evening Prophet said?"

McGonagall attempted a dismissive scoff that wasn't terribly convincing. "That this is the end of all magic? Nonsense." She sipped. Winced. "There's always an explanation. And a solution."

"That's true." Poppy's expression was one of determined hope. "Hell, Minnie. We didn't survive the second wizarding war to lose our magic to… What?" She waved a frustrated hand. "Some...plague? If it's that, I have to believe there's a cure."

"There's no cure for Dragon Pox."

"That's negative thinking."

Minerva chuckled darkly. "You know. In the olde times, the Great Dragon was believed to sleep every hundred or so years. To rest and...recharge the land's magic. Perhaps that's happening again."

"You believe those old myths?" Poppy asked. "You believe there's a dragon at the earth's core?"

"Oh, I don't believe they're myths at all, Poppy." Fondly, McGonagall stroked the edge of Albus Dumbledore's hourglass. At her touch, its sands began running upward. Little magics, it seemed, were still amok. "I have to believe in something."

A knock at her office door and both witches looked up. "That'll be Sybil. Come in, Sybil!" Minerva called.

The Divination professor stumbled through the door with her usual grace. The bells at the hem of her skirt caught on the door jamb and when she looked down to free them, her thick glasses clunked onto the floor. "Oh!" She exclaimed genially. "My my my…"

Poppy and Minerva watched her with smiles. Sybil was a love. A charming mess, but a true love. "Come along, you wobbly witchy," Poppy tutted. "Have a little toddy with us."

Sybil's magic was as daunted as theirs it seemed, and after a time, she wrestled a chair into position in their huffed tiredly and sat, bells tinkling and scarves settling. "Thank you, Minnie." She accepted her tumbler.

"We didn't see you at meals today, Syb," Poppy said. "Everything alright?"

"Bit off today." Sybil answered on a swallow. She hissed at the strength of the whiskey and waggled a hand. "The energies of the universe are off kilter."

Minerva slapped her knee. "Well, that's it then! Go at once and fix the energies, Sybil. We must have balanced energies."

"Don't mock the energies!" Sybil admonished. "They'll kick your arse."

"Minerva and I were just discussing our theory that the dragon at the center of the earth is the cause for the magical abatement. Apparently every hundred years or so he has to take a nap. What do you think, Sybil?" She grinned at the soothsayer. "Sybil? Sybil!"

Poppy's firewhiskey sloshed over the rim as she leapt from her chair. "Minnie! Give me something for her to bite on! She's seizing!"

Indeed she was. While Minerva scrambled for a gag, Sybil pitched straight in her chair. Her tumbler tumbled onto the rug beneath them, and her eyes - milky white - rolled in their sockets. Poppy pulled their friend from the chair and into her lap, kneeling. Healer's instinct ran strong. Minerva settled for shoving her own wand into Poppy's waiting hand. It was relatively useless of late, anyway.

"There, there, Syb. Here, bite down." Poppy attempted to press the wand into Sybil's mouth but the other witch trembled too strongly, hands clawing on Poppy's arm. "It's alright, Syb! Come now. Bite!" She pressed again, this time succeeding in getting Sybil to latch onto the wand.

Sybil growled like an animal - like a thing untamable. Minerva knelt alongside Poppy, fear and concern controlled on her features. "What do we do?"

"Just let it pass," Poppy instructed. "It's happened before." She rocked Sybil as the tremors started to subside. "Shhhh, shhh, shh. There now. See? That's better. It's passing, Syb. Poor love."

Poppy's hands stroked Sybil's suddenly sweat soaked hair. Her head scarf had fallen away, revealing messy blonde curls. Sybil groaned, but her body quieted. She huffed heavy breaths. Spat Minerva's wand which Minerva caught blithely. "It comes," she whimpered.

"What?" Poppy leaned toward her. "What comes, dear?"

Sybil's eyes had not cleared. Like some living dead, she sat bolt upright, a hand to each startled companion's shoulder. And then - voice not her own - she spoke:

"The magic of the land doth wane and be gone,

and heroes of olde quest newly strong

must recover that which from us is torn.

They seek to part the mists of Avalon,

but need the magic of the singular one

coupled fast with the dragon sun.

From past dark pitch,

with future light rich,

seek ye out the white black witch."

Message delivered, she crumpled. Poppy caught her, and caught Minerva's wide eyes. "Was that…"

"A prophecy." McGonagall replied.

Poppy looked down at their limp companion. "Bloody Hell, Syb." She kissed the sometime clairvoyant's head. "You really know how to spice up an evening toddy."

* * *

Possibly a thousand miles away - easily perhaps 500 or probably a million - another witch sipped a toddy, too. It wasn't firewhiskey painting the innards of a bone-carved goblet but a thick and suspiciously ruby red libation of unknown origin.

The witch is of unknown origin, as well. Or the origin of myth. She is legend quite real. Her fingers are old as time, clutching a staff dangerous with thorns. Her hair - an odd white and black amalgamation that has never known a scissor - is practically writhing with the static beneath her feet. She hasn't felt magic this strong in weeks.

A calculating mist presses in around her. It obeys less and less of late. She thrusts the thorny staff into the stony sand. Waves crash somewhere far below. The static charges to a lightning strike and for a second - if she could be seen - she would appear almost skeletal.

Her other hand spills the last of the goblet's contents. The earth drinks thirstily. The dragon is desperate. The mist feels it, and swirls nervously. The witch knows. Her eyes glow.

The prophecy is delivered.

* * *

It was early Saturday. Ronald Weasley was lounging on the tatty couch. Harry Potter was reading a wizarding comic. Hermione Granger was sitting on the floor, half lying over the tea table. The boredom in Grimmauld Place's drawing room was palpable. A sigh resounded. It could have come from anyone.

Then a tapping.

"What's that?" Harry asked, glancing over the corner of his comic.

"Probably those damn doxies." Ron sat up straight. "I told you they'd get in the walls. I'll get mum over with the spray again."

"Huh." Harry looked back to his comic. Hermione resettled her messy head in the crook of her arm. Then the tapping came again.

"It's an owl!" The witch leapt first. The wizards were hot on her heels as they scrambled into the kitchen.

"Who's it from?" Ron asked. They all struggled to open the window, annoyed with their own waning magics. "Ow!" Hermione unceremoniously shoved the ginger out of the way and an impressive horned owl swept over their heads.

It settled impatiently on the table, regarding the trio with some disdain. It had been kept waiting. Preening, it offered forth its missive like an afterthought. Harry took the tightly rolled parchment, viewed it, then handed it over. "It's for you."

"Me?" Hermione snatched it. "It's from McGonagall!"

"McGonagall?" Ron's brows rose. "Can we get detention when we're not even at Hogwarts anymore?"

Hermione was avidly reading. Harry and Ron avidly watched her. When she finished the short letter, she bit at her lip. Forehead creased. "Well?" Harry urged.

"She wants to see us. Something about a prophecy."

"A prophecy?" Harry reached for the letter. "Let me see."

"You're a magnet for prophecies, mate." Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder.

"She doesn't say what it's about." He re-rolled the letter. "Just says she thinks it involves us."

"Of course it does," Ron grumbled. "Should I get the tent ready?"

"I'm going to get dressed," Hermione announced, looking down at her rumpled pyjamas. "If she's like her owl, we'd best not keep her waiting."

Harry and Ron watched her leave the room. "Are we doing this again?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "I guess so. Whatever this is."

Flooing was difficult. The weakened magic made for slow travel, and iffy travel at that. Some people found themselves re-directed to strange locations - like Zimbabwe - and stranded there until the routes stabilized, sometimes days later. But fortune favoured the Golden Trio as usual, and after a burp that landed them in an abandoned Cornwall pub for a few hours, they oozed out of the floo into Minerva's office.

Technically, at least to Harry, it would always be Dumbledore's office. And the new Headmistress had changed little about it. Though there was more plaid now.

Minerva was expecting them. She bustled over as they dusted themselves off. Hermione was the first to receive a hug, still teacher's pet after all this time. "Professor!" She embraced the older witch. "Or should I say Headmistress?"

"Oh, Hermione," McGonagall groused. "I believe you can call me Minerva now. Harry!" She hugged him next. "And you, Mr. Weasley!" After hugs, she regarded them warmly. "Look how you've all changed!"

"Look how Hogwarts has changed," Harry said. "I can't believe it's only been a year. It already looks good as new."

"Loads of elbow grease," Minerva assured. "And we had quite a bit of help. But you'll remember that." Their last weeks at Hogwarts had been spent on repairs, mostly. Final testing was simply a technicality of sorts. "Thank you for coming so promptly. Sit." She gestured them to chairs facing her desk. "I know travel is...difficult of late, and I know you're eager to see why I've summoned you."

From the topmost drawer in her desk, she pulled a parchment. "This is the prophecy."

"Where was it found?" Hermione took it carefully if eagerly.

"Right here." Minerva waved. "Sybil Trelawney spouted it over hot toddies Thursday night." The trio froze. Glanced at each other. McGonagall caught the exchange. "I know what you're thinking. But...this one is different. Just read it."

Granger was already reading. She analyzed every word while her friends waited with baited breath. It was obvious some of the Hogwarts professors had already had a go at it. Binns had tiny detailed notes in the margins. There were arithmancy equations scribbled here and there. Even a rudimentary star chart and crude map on the back. Finally, she spoke, passing the picked apart parchment to Harry. "I understand why you think it speaks of us, but…"

"I know." Minerva placed her chin on steepled fingers. "There's a great deal of mythological reference."

"Avalon." Hermione breathed. "But many believe Avalon to be real."

"Yes. I know that, too."

"The dragon sun?" Harry asked.

"Possibly the Great Dragon that resides in the earth." Hermione informed. "The one who gifts us with magic."

"There is also a constellation called The Dragon," Minerva pointed out. "And when you compare it to a map of Britain, it creates a match to ley lines in Scotland and Ireland. The brightest star of that constellation - a sun sized star - lies in the northern sea. Off the coast of Ireland."

"Possibly the location of Avalon," Hermione murmured. She took the parchment back from Ron. "Incredible. It's basically pointing us in the right direction."

"But this bit," Ron gestured to the prophecy. "The white black witch. That makes no sense."

"That _is _a bit daunting," McGonagall agreed. "You see, white witches are quite rare. And in all of our research, we can't find any known ones who are black."

"What's a white witch exactly?" Harry asked.

"White witches are elemental witches," Minerva explained. "They...are particularly gifted when it comes to earth magic. Many have great power and can even control the very elements. In the past, and unfortunately even now, they were...shunned by many in the magical community. Too powerful. Some of them...used their power for more nefarious purposes. But mostly it's frightening to see a witch make volcanoes erupt with a finger snap."

"Mum says there's that one famous witch who set Greenland on fire." Ron leaned forward excitedly. "I always loved that story."

McGonagall frowned at him. "Yes, Mr. Weasley. But the Great Ice Fire was nothing to sneer at. Many muggles and magical people alike died in the flames that raged for fourteen days."

"Yeah." Ron nodded. "Fourteen days. That was my favourite bit."

Harry scowled. "So even if there _is_ a white witch out there, she might not admit to it. Makes it rather difficult."

"Black witch…" Ron was pondering. "Maybe she's in Africa!"

"Ron. There are black witches outside of Africa." Harry pointed out. "There are probably hundreds of them. This could be harder than hunting Horcruxes."

"Perhaps not." Hermione spoke slowly. She'd been pondering, too, and her pondering was generally more productive than Ron's. So she had all attention. "What if it's not the _colour _of the white witch, but the _name_?"

Minerva blinked. Ron scratched his head. Harry stood. "Gods!" He exclaimed. "A white _Black_ witch! The Black family! Hermione, you're brilliant."

"I know." She nodded. "But Harry, there are only two Black family witches alive now as far as I know. And technically, neither of them are Blacks anymore."

"It's got to be Andromeda," Harry said. He began to pace. "She's a strong witch. We've seen that. She could be a white witch."

"There's only one way to find out." Hermione looked at McGonagall. "Can we take this? We may need the map soon." They were excited, on the right path, hurrying to be on the way.

"Of course." McGonagall stood, too, followed them to the floo. "You'll be in touch? Let me know immediately when you speak to her? And be bloody careful in this thing." She slapped the floo mantel.

"We will." Hermione embraced her mentor once more. "And hopefully we'll have good news for you."

"For the whole wizarding world," Minerva amended. "Again. Good luck!" She wasn't certain if they'd heard her. Harry had barked a destination, and they were gone in an unpredictable green fizz.

**AN:** It's time for the milf's summer adventure to begin. This one is already finished. I'll update once a week, and take us cleanly to the end of summer vacay. If you're not familiar with Arthurian legend or any other magical lore, brush up on this one. I highly recommend _The Mists of Avalon_ by Marion Zimmer Bradley if nothing else. You'll enjoy it, and feel a little closer to the heart of this story. Indulge my guilty pleasure with this one - I love mythology.


	2. Honoured and Intrigued

Apparation was risky, but it was a chance the trio had to take. Arriving by floo at the Tonks residence was rude at best, but deadly at worst. Wards may have been weak, but they were still wards. And depending on the level of protection at work, they could kill an intruder. So they opted for apparating from Grimmauld's patio to just outside the picket fence surrounding Andromeda's quaint home.

It was late September, but still her garden thrived. Flowers still bloomed on vines and ivy flourished green on walls. Proof positive, in Harry's opinion, that she was the witch they were looking for.

Sure enough, her wards were relatively weak. He felt them shimmer just barely when they passed through, but her front door opened just the same. They'd been announced as welcome guests, no doubt. Very welcome.

"Harry! Hermione! Ron!" There were more hugs. Andromeda was a warm witch. Perhaps it was some loneliness that made her so, but Harry suspected she'd always been this way. So different from her cold and bigoted family…

"Hello, ." He took a sloppy cheek kiss with a grin. "I'm sorry we came unannounced."

"Nonsense." She was leading them up the stone path to her open door. "Come anytime. I've told you to! I'm always happy to see you. All of you! And Teddy will be happy, too." Her thick black curls - so reminiscent of her mad, dead sister's - were tamed today by a wide cotton headscarf.

Inside, jackets were collected and hung on pegs. Little Teddy toddled in the living room, steadying himself occasionally on a tea table. His hair pinkened brightly when he saw the trio and he pointed. "Wawee!"

"Hello, Teddy." Harry swept the boy up. A bittersweet reminder of lost friends, the boy had his mother's metamorphmagus tendencies and his father's unfortunate hairline. "You're getting bigger every day."

Teddy reached for Hermione. "Nonnee!" Harry passed him over and Hermione began fussing over the boy with coos.

"I'll fix up a tea," Andromeda said. "What brings you here, Harry? You look determined."

"Well." He followed her into her inviting kitchen. The waning magic did not seem to have adversely affected her much. But Harry knew she was a witch who had plenty of muggle experience. Her husband Ted had been muggle-born, after all. "I'll confess we're here on a bit of urgent business."

"Oh." She dropped a sachet into her kettle. "I hope nothing terribly serious?"

"Quite serious, actually," he muttered. "It's about the waning magic."

She was busily setting up a tray with cups and saucers. Harry helped with the biscuit tin she'd produced. "Well, I don't know how in the world I can be of any use in regards to that, Harry."

"You may be _all_ the use in the world, ." He took the heavy tray while she retrieved the charmed tea kettle. They headed into the cozy living room where Ron and Hermione entertained Teddy.

"Tea!" Teddy shouted joyously.

"Yes, pumpkin. Tea." Andromeda gave the boy a biscuit. His hair went yellow. "Now." She sat and began serving. Perhaps there was some innate tendency to hostess in white witches. "Tell me what's so urgent that it's brought you all here to visit me."

Hermione produced the parchment. "This is a prophecy," she explained. "Handed to us by Minerva McGonagall and spoken by Sybil Trelawney. We think it's the key to restoring magic for the wizarding world."

Andromeda read as carefully as Hermione had, balancing the parchment on her lap like the valuable it was. She smiled ruefully when she finished a third read-through. "Harry. You certainly are a magnet for prophecies, aren't you?"

"That's what I said!" Ron grinned.

"What can I do?" Andromeda handed the parchment back to Hermione. "Other than the mythology, I'm afraid none of it makes sense to me."

Harry leaned forward. Ron and Hermione watched him intently. "Ms. Tonks. Are you a white witch?"

She regarded him for several seconds before her face melted in sympathy. "Oh, I see. I understand now. Oh, Harry…" She shook her head. "The white _Black_ witch… How could I have missed that?"

Harry sighed deeply. "So you are. Thank Merlin."

"No!" She touched his knee gently, comforting. "No, Harry. I'm sorry...but you have the wrong sister."

"The wrong sister…" It was a minor defeat felling his victory. "Oh."

"But if it isn't you -" Hermione began.

"Then who is it?" Ron finished.

"Narcissa." Harry closed his eyes when he breathed the name.

"Narcissa?" Ron looked from Harry to Hermione.

"Narcissa Malfoy," Hermione clarified.

"Oh yeah…" Ron nodded. "I forget she was a Black once." Then his face screwed up. "There's no way! She's a Malfoy! And awful! Hermione, she watched while Bellatrix carved you up on her drawing room floor, for fuck's sake!" His pale face flushed with anger. "There's no way she'll ever help us. And there's no way I'll ask her."

Harry considered. He understood his friend's passion, but… "She lied to Voldemort. She saved my life."

"To save her own ingrateful son!"

"Ron." Hermione reached for him, but he was standing.

"I'm taking Teddy out. It's a nice bloody day. Come along, Teddy." Teddy was happy to accompany Ron, excited for play in the sun.

The group left behind sat in silence, each absorbing the possibilities. It was Andromeda - calmly sipping her tea - who broke the pall. "I've not seen or spoken to my little sister in… a lifetime," she sighed. "And I can imagine what she's become. Just the thing my mother and father wanted her to be. But I'll tell you. There was a time when she was as innocent as Teddy is, and if I was the Black family's secret shame, she was their secret fear."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"She was so strong. Especially for a child. It was frightening!" Andromeda produced her own swishy willow wand, fingered it as she spoke. "Elementals...they can't help it. Their magic is harder to control. She did things…" She shook her head. "When she was sad, it rained. When she was angry, the fire flared out of the floo. When she was happy… The flowers would bloom in the snow. It was beautiful sometimes, and horrifying other times."

"Unpredictable," Hermione interjected.

"Exactly. So our parents intervened." Andromeda continued. "They would punish her. Ridiculously. Lock her in her room. Starve her. Sometimes father even…" But she shook her head, some memories too difficult to dredge. "It was abominable! They finally hired this dreadful old witch to 'train' her…" She shuddered. "I left my family behind for numerous reasons. Mainly because I fell in love with Ted. But I would have eventually left even without him. And for a time, I wanted to take Cissy with me. Steal her away."

"I imagine she would have been very much different had that happened," Harry said. He took a deep breath. "We'll have to speak to her."

"Harry," Hermione began worriedly.

"I know," he said. "But we have to try. And besides…"

"Besides what?"

He looked at Hermione. At Andromeda. "She did lie to Voldemort. She did save my life. In the face of everything she could lose as opposed to everything she had to gain, she lied." He stood up tiredly, as if a great weight was placed on his shoulders. "Thank you, Ms. Tonks. I suppose we'll have to speak to your sister now."

Andromeda stood to see them to the door. "I wish you luck, Harry. Hermione. I can't imagine what lies ahead of you. But I hope you'll take care."

"We will." Harry hugged the hostess. "And we'll be in touch."

"Excellent." In the sun, Hermione went to collect Ron and Teddy from their play beneath an oak. Quietly, Andromeda caught hold of Harry's sleeve. Stopped him. "When you see her," she began haltingly. "When you see her...tell her…" She stuttered and gave up.

Harry nodded. Understood. "I will."

"Thank you, Harry." When Teddy ran to his grandmother, she lifted him into an embrace. They waved at their visitors one last time, then made their way into the house.

Just beyond Andromeda's fence, the trio paused to regroup. Ron seemed sullen, angry. As soon as the Tonkses were secreted, he spoke. "I'm _not_ going to Malfoy Manor, Harry. I'm not going to give Draco or his mum the satisfaction of asking for their help. The prophecy is wrong. I'll keep looking. There are other people we can -"

"The prophecy is right, Ron." Hermione insisted. She walked a ways away, rubbing frustratedly at her hair. "Do you think _I _ want to go there? Back to that place? Do you think I want to look in the faces of the people who watched me tortured? I don't!" Her hair bristled with staticy magic. "But people _can_ change," she hissed. "I have to have faith in that. I have to hope that it's true for them. Because apparently, without her, we're all going to lose our magic. And I can't live that way. Can you?"

His nostrils flared. Harry watched the exchange nervously. Ron nodded. "Fine. I hope it's true, too. But I'm still not going."

"Fine." Hermione wasn't angry, but she wasn't best pleased. She turned to Harry. "We should go there straight away. Before our apparation luck wears off." To Ron. "Are you going back to Grimmauld then?"

"No." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm going home. To the Burrow. Let me know what happens." And he spun away with a frustrated pop. A light breeze blew. Hermione sighed into it.

"Hermione. If you really don't want to do this, don't. I can go by myself."

"No. We stick together. With our magic like this, it's safer." She frowned. "Besides, I can't avoid it forever. And I need to know if it's true."

"Right." Harry offered his arm. "Shall we then?"

"I might rather face the Dark Lord again."

He grinned. "Yeah. Me too."

Malfoy Manor was a damned sight less imposing in the daylight. In fact, it was rather beautiful. Hermione took in its alabaster facade with what she hoped was concealed surprise, but Harry knew her too well.

"It's sort of pretty," he said, peering through the charmed gates. His voice seemed to rouse the sinister snake face intricately woven into wrought iron.

"Who wishes entry?" It demanded in a hiss.

"Harry Potter."

The face portrayed no emotion, but solidified once more. Moments passed. Breezes blew. In the distance, a mournful peacock called. "What if they don't let us in?" Hermione asked.

"They will." Harry was certain. She'd not seen his face so determined in a long time, and she wished she shared the sentiment.

But his certainty won out. With an echoing creak, the gates swung open. The walk down the white stone path was interminable. When the manor rose into view in its full glory, Hermione's breath nearly caught.

She'd only seen it in the black of evening. The distant stars had turned it into terror, all shadow and dark stone. In the daylight, it was a glistening homage to opulence. A fountain of twining marble snakes sprayed arcs of water, and she saw pale koi swimming in the tureen as they passed.

On the wide steps, details emerged. Intricately carved narcissi mingled with dragons of Celtic knotwork in the flagstone on a backdrop of heavy M's. While she couldn't help being impressed with the aesthetic, she was disgusted by the lurid lavishness. She supposed it could be attributed to her more middle class muggle upbringing, and grudgingly wondered if there wasn't a hint of envy at work.

So distracted was she by the surroundings, she'd not heard the ash doors open wide. "Potter."

"Malfoy."

She decided silence was her best option and watched the exchange between Draco and her best friend tensely.

"What do you want?" Draco looked the same for the most part, although his eyes were a bit more shadowed, and his shoulders a bit more sloping. He looked...tired.

"I'd like to see your mother. It's urgent."

"Obviously." The blonde's silver eyes drifted coolly over Hermione. "Granger. I doubt either of you would come here for a nosh." Hermione's eyes narrowed and Draco looked back to Potter. "Well, how could we turn away a visit from the recent savior of the wizarding world? Come in, Potter."

Harry ignored how his name sounded like a curse from Malfoy's lips. Hermione ignored how his eyes regarded her like a lesser thing as she passed his welcoming arm. And again, she was stymied by the beauty of her surroundings.

Marble floors of the purest white she'd seen. Smooth stone walls. Windows ceiling high open for the pleasant breeze. They passed several rooms and she clearly recognised the dark wood floor of the drawing room - felt a palpable chill emanating from the wide doorway.

Fortunately, they passed that room as well. In fact, they walked the entirety of a massive corridor, beneath a spiral of stone stairs, and through a pair of French doors hung with sheer tulle onto a spacious sandstone patio. There, standing infallibly proud, was Narcissa Malfoy.

She was smaller than Hermione remembered. Smaller than when she was haughty and high on ire, insulting blood status and spitting murderous intent. But somehow, she was still intimidating as hell in a flowing light blue frock. Her hair was pulled into a regal chignon, odd black and white flashing. Her wide eyes spoke of caution, defense, fight or flight. But there was something else there in the darkening edges of blue iris: curiosity.

"Mother." Draco walked around them, stood beside his matron. "Our visitors are for you, it seems."

"For me?" Her voice was hoarse, as if from disuse, but still deep with false pride. "I'm honoured and intrigued. Please." Her wand was so quick in her hand Hermione tensed. But she only flicked it to summon two chairs. "Sit."

The iron chairs sauntered gracefully to the waiting table. It seemed this witch's magic was little affected by the declining thread. Hesitantly, Harry and Hermione did sit. On the polished table before them was an obviously interrupted game of wizard's chess. A cursory glance told Hermione that the white fleet was poised to win in less than five moves, and the dainty fan beside said fleet told her that Narcissa was poised to be the victor. The pieces milled about in place, awaiting resumation of their game.

Only after the guests were seated did the Malfoys sit, shifting in their own chairs to regard the encroachers. "Draco and I have had our tea," Narcissa announced. "But if you care for some…"

"We've just had tea," Harry informed coolly. "With your sister."

This caught the icy witch off guard. Hermione watched a brief flash of emotion marr the perfect porcelain face. Draco noticed, too, and tensed warningly, ready to defend his defender. "I have no sister."

"Yes, you do." Harry's tone was unfailing. "And whatever your relationship with her, she's given me some information that leads me to believe you're about to become very important to this world. Whether reluctantly or not."

"Watch how you speak to my mother, Potter." Draco snapped.

But Narcissa raised a hand to calm him. Her eyes were slim, searching things. "What do you want from me, Harry?" Her use of his first name didn't escape all listening ears. "What is it I can do to make myself so dreadfully important?"

Harry held his empty hand to Hermione, and she reached into her back pocket, fumbling for a moment for the folded prophecy. When she finally produced it, Harry gestured to Narcissa, and Hermione gulped. She saw her own hand shaking as she offered the parchment, and the Malfoy witch saw it, too. The snake recognising fear in its prey.

She stared at the missive for a moment, let the girl languish before reaching for it. Her fingers were thin and elegant, nails manicured to a high shine. Purposefully, she brushed Hermione's knuckles. The touch was chilling.

Slowly, she unfolded the parchment. Scanned the words quickly, then flipped it to study the figures scrawled on back. Draco glanced over her elbow the entire time, and when she was done reading, she offered it to him as if it was the fashion page of the Prophet. "Another prophecy, Potter?" Her brow arched magnificently. "Who died for you to retrieve this one? I hope no...friends."

He ignored the goading, but Hermione saw his face burn. "This one came from McGonagall."

Draco read the prophecy more slowly than his mother had, deliberately. He spoke it aloud in fact.

"The magic of the land doth wane and be gone,

and heroes of olde quest newly strong

must recover that which from us is torn.

They seek to part the mists of Avalon,

but need the magic of the singular one

coupled fast with the dragon sun.

From past dark pitch,

with future light rich,

seek ye out the white black witch."

"Hmph. I didn't realise the old bat was a seer," he muttered after his recitation.

"Trelawney spoke it," Hermione blurted.

Draco laughed, cast the parchment to the table. "The drunk and the bat? Perhaps you should check your sources better." He scowled. "What does this have to do with my mother?"

Harry collected the prophecy carefully. Refolded it before leveling a direct gaze at Narcissa. "Are you a white witch?"

"How dare you!" Draco was standing, ready for a confrontation. Hermione was quick to her feet as well. But again Narcissa's firm hand reigned the Malfoy heir back into his seat. "Mother, they can't -"

"Shhh!" She hissed and he quieted. Her eyes had not left Harry's. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Your sister -"

"My sister lives lies, Mr. Potter." She spoke calmly, but her nostrils flared, belying her stoicism. "Even as a child she lied. What should make me accept her sincerity now?"

Harry leaned forward, frustrated. "I imagine what you were told of your sister and what is true about her are two very different things. And according to her your childhood wasn't so perfect, either."

"You know nothing of my childhood!" Her voice rose for the first time since their encounter began. "Don't presume -"

"Is it true you couldn't control your magic?" Harry chose to barrage her with questions, to prevent her chances of interrupting or diverting. "That you could make it rain? Make flowers bloom? That your parents punished you for it? Had a tutor come to -"

"Stop it!" Completely unsettled, she stood, shaking. "Get out of my house." Her voice was a threatening growl. A hint of Parseltongue mingling. Draco stood as well, a hand on his mother's shoulder.

"It's true." Potter pushed his luck. Hermione fingered her wand in her belt loop, ready to be ready for all the good her magic would do them. "You know that the prophecy speaks of you. A white witch of the Black family. You can do so much right now, Mrs. Malfoy. You have the opportunity to save so many - to help our world! We can do this together."

But she was unconvinced. Unconvinced and still quivering with anger. "You bring this...rambling of a drunken charlatan into my home, accuse me of being a...magical _freak_, and expect me to what?" She threw her arms wide. "What is your great plan, chosen one? I assume once you find your...black and white witch, you have an idea what to do with her?"

Harry blinked. Hermione frowned, seeing him falter for the first time. "Well…"

"Yes. Well." Narcissa's chin rose, pointed to her decision. "Leave now, Mr. Potter."

He stood. Leaned on the table till he was very near her face. "Please, Mrs. Malfoy. Just…"

"Potter. My mother's asked you to leave." Draco spoke respectfully if lowly. "I'll show you out."

Harry sighed. Hermione felt herself relax slightly. "Fine." But he placed the prophecy on the waiting game of wizard's chess. "But take one more look at it. Then do what you will." Malfoy eyes fell on the folded papyrus, and Harry turned toward the French doors.

They were quiet until they reached the manor foyer. "Thank you for coming, Potter." Draco muttered. "Hope you enjoyed the gloat."

"Stop it, Malfoy." Harry said. "This is bigger than any of us. Bigger than your father's death sentence. Bigger than the reparations your family had to pay. It's not about you for once."

The doors swung open. Draco leaned in the frame as Harry and Hermione descended the steps. "So it's not about you either, Potter? Aren't you in the prophecy?"

"We're all in it, Draco." Hermione turned, decided she could drop some first names, too. "We're just in it for magic's sake. Do you want to live like a muggle for the rest of your life? Or do you want to take the chance - no matter how small - and try to save it?"

The falling sun caught his lip curl and shadowed it. Made him look menacing despite the inkling of fear in his eyes. "Don't come back," he sneered. "Unless you'd like to re-visit the drawing room next time."

She rolled her eyes. Not surprised. But Harry spoke. "We won't be back, Malfoy. It's already hard to apparate. And it's only going to get worse." He glanced to the gates so far away. "Hope your wards hold up. Come on, Hermione." And with the last lingering threat, they trekked down the walkway for their final shaky apparation back to Grimmauld Place.

Back to wait.


	3. A Jolly Vacation

A Jolly Vacation

She was staring at the prophecy when Draco returned. Hadn't touched it. Just staring. He sat, and removed it from the chess board and her line of sight. "Bloody Potter," he grumbled.

"Mm."

"Your move, mother."

She smiled. He was trying to avoid the issue. For her sake. Sweet boy. "It was _your_ move, darling."

"Oh." He studied the board in that way he had. Arms crossed on the table. Intently watching his black pieces stretch, scratch and shuffle about impatiently. But every once in a while, his eyes also moved to the folded parchment. It didn't help that he knew she had him in four moves. She waited for the inevitable.

First, he picked at a ragged cuticle. Then, "D'you think they're barmy? Coming here with this…" He gestured dismissively at the prophecy. Flicked it a little. "This whatever it is?" She reached for it. Unfolded it. He watched her over his chess pieces. "Mother?"

"Yes, Draco." It was an answer to the question he was about to ask.

He understood. Forehead creased the way hers did when she was daunted. "So… There's some truth to what they said? You were… you know."

Her eyes closed. Memories like fingertips, slowly raising prints on her sticky brain. Her mother's shock and horror. Father's constant scowl. As if she was sick somehow. The days spent in her room, faint with hunger for something she couldn't control, couldn't comprehend. The crack of the lash. The burn. And that awful tutor… She shuddered. "Yes, Draco."

"Gods." He breathed. It wasn't disgust in his regard, but wonder. And admiration? "You can really make it rain?"

She shook her head. "It's magic I haven't felt in...in forever."

"Magic doesn't go away though, mum. Well, I mean, it does _now_ but that's unusual." He poked at her queen. The queen reacted violently, swinging her sharp little sceptre at his teasing finger. "So. It could be true. The prophecy. All that stuff they said."

"It's ridiculous," she retorted. But hope dampened her vehemence.

"Well I'm sure most of it is like...symbolism, anyway." Draco sat up, relieved that the dismal chess game was apparently forgotten. "I mean all that drivel about Avalon -"

She bristled the way only a witch would. "Avalon is most certainly _not_ drivel, Draco!" Horrifying to learn her own son could think that way.

He held up hands defensively, his smile of victory goading her. He loved getting her goat. Always had. "Father always said it was a myth."

"Your father's a fool."

He nodded. "I won't argue that. I suppose that's why he's in Azkaban awaiting a dementor date and we're here. Playing wizard's chess and contemplating whether or not my mum is the next savior of wizardkind."

She tisked. "It just doesn't make any sense."

He took it from her. "I think it does, really. If you take it apart. I see the whole bit about the white black witch. That's you. And the bit about heroes old here. I think if you change the wording to three annoying gits that makes even more sense. The bit about the dragon sun is a bit weird, but I suppose there's some metaphor at work there, too.."

Narcissa chewed her lip. A dreadful habit. A tell he hadn't learned yet. "It refers to the great dragon, darling. At the center of the earth. The keeper of all magic?"

"Ohhhh, him." Draco glared at her sardonically. "Come on, mum. Those tales you used to tell me before bed?"

"You mean like last night?"

He flushed deep crimson. "Touche, witch."

She sighed. Story time, indeed. She swept the chess board clear to the mortification of the animated figures. Her arm trembled within its sheer sleeve as she selected certain pieces. "Long ago, there was the great dragon." She crumpled the prophecy into a ball and balanced it on the grid. "Some argue that his breath became sky and his tears became ocean. That he made this Britain we inhabit. And all was magical."

She set a few random pawn and rooks upon the board. "Then came humankind. A bothersome lot. They systematically abused their magic. Warred and murdered. So, the dragon intervened."

"He took the magic." Draco knew this part. "So that only a few were left with it. The original purebloods."

"Our ancestors." She pushed a few chess pieces over. "It was the birth of mugglekind. And of envy. Witches were burned. Wizards stoned. Dark times. And many hid, secreted themselves among the muggles. Intermarried." A moue of distaste. "They sullied the magic that was left. So sects developed." She clustered a few pieces together. "And those who valued the magic kept it sacred."

"Like us." Draco said.

Narcissa sighed. "I suppose many...find magic sacred."

"But…" He gentled his statement. Didn't want to upset the balance they'd created here. "If magic is dying again, perhaps there _is_ some truth to that prophecy. That a pureblood with those… connections to the old magic has to…" He shrugged. "Well, I don't know exactly what you're to do."

She chewed her lip again and stood. Took the balled prophecy and and left the patio. Draco watched her enter the manor, but didn't follow. She was glad. Made her way to her chambers quickly and shut herself in. She held the parchment to her diaphragm, let her breaths imbue it. There was a fear in her. A knowledge. A suspicion she dared not suspect.

So she imagined Draco without magic. The abysmal life he would lead. How would they survive? And what of magic? She imagined a world without it and felt her heart buckle and break. "But I can't," she whispered to herself. "If it's true… I can't." She clenched the prophecy harder, clenched her eyes closed against tears.

She imagined Draco…and shuddered.

* * *

Early the next morning, she left. Apparated smoothly from her gardens. Draco slept late most days, and she avoided waking him. Didn't want to chance his apparation going wrong. Strong as her own odd magic was, she could now feel the lag here and there.

She'd not been to Grimmauld Place since her youth. And the park she remembered apparating to in that youth was now (unsettlingly) a muggle cemetery. "Oh." She recovered smoothly from the wobbly touchdown and balanced herself against a smooth limestone carcophagus. She straightened her hat and gloves, passed through rusted iron, and made a right onto a rather busy muggle walk. "Oh!"

But she recognised Grimmauld well enough. Felt and even saw the tingle of its wards, weak though they were. And it seemed the place recognised her, as well, for a facade began to part with a lurching slowness. Her mouth tightened. They'd expected her to come.

And it was a familiar face that greeted her at the dusty door. "Kreacher," she clipped.

"Mistress Black." The ancient elf bowed so lowly his nose nearly scraped the faded floor. "It is Kreacher's pride to serve a true member of the noble and ancient -"

"Kreacher." Potter had appeared at the end of the hallway. "Let our guest in."

She watched the elf. Saw the turmoil within the elf. It muttered something, ushered her into the...foyer. "Mrs. Malfoy." Harry took her light traveling cloak and hung it upon a long row of pegs. "I'm glad you came. This way."

The house was quiet. "Are you alone here, Mr. Potter?"

"No. Hermione and Ron are still asleep." He gestured into an open doorway into what she remembered to be a somber drawing room. "I'll have Kreacher bring tea."

"Thank you." Now, the somber drawing room was awash in ghastly Gryffindor gold and red. A quidditch poster hung where a portrait of Alucard Black once hung. She tried to hide her disappointment, but it was evident in Harry's grin that she was unsuccessful.

"I've er...made some changes," he confessed.

"I see."

He removed a stack of wizarding comics from a wingback chair. Knocked a half eaten pumpkin pasty to the floor. Blushed. "Ron's a bit of a slob. And the elf..."

"I see that, too." She sat. Crossed her ankles primly. Watched Harry maneuver a tea table between them.

"Kreacher!" He called. "Tea, please. And something good this time?"

There was grumbling in the hallway. Narcissa's lips pursed. "You give him too much license," she said. "He thrives on service and you show him platitudes. Command him. Don't ask him."

"I imagine you give the best of advice when it comes to elf treatment." Harry couldn't control the ire in his tone, thinking of Dobby.

Her nostrils flared. Eyes narrowed. She was trying to bloody help. "For Black family elves? Yes."

Harry gave a conceding nod. "I apologise. You're actually right. Perhaps I should try that." It was shaky ground they trod on, and he needed to keep it as stable as possible.

Kreacher appeared at that moment with a rather impressive silver tray. It engulfed the table, and the elf set about preparing a delicate porcelain cuppa for Narcissa. "Kreacher's pleasure is again to serve a true Black. Kreacher is -"

"Kreacher is leaving us in peace," Narcissa said firmly. "Until he is necessary again." As if in ecstasy, the elf curled his ears back and fairly whimpered. "Go!" Narcissa snapped.

The elf popped away. Harry's brows sprung high. "Wow," he breathed.

"Like that." She sipped her tea. "Yes, quite nice."

"I doubt you've come for tea and a trip down memory lane." Harry was more direct than she'd expected. She respected that.

"No. Of course not." She withdrew the now rather worn prophecy. "I've given this quite a bit of thought. And for what it's worth...I'm willing to help."

"Oh, thank the goddess!" The exclamation came from the doorway. From Hermione Granger who stood there looking less than impressive in a pair of baggy lounge pants and oversized jersey.

Narcissa's lip curled. "I nearly forgot how prone to eavesdropping your friends are, Mr. Potter. I've been remiss."

Granger shrugged and entered. "Kreacher told me there was tea and 'an honoured guest.' So I assumed it was you." She sat on a copy of Witch Weekly and picked up a biscuit. "I'm glad you've reconsidered."

"I don't even understand exactly what I've reconsidered." Narcissa said. "And I won't rule out reconsidering again."

"It seems fairly straightforward to me." Hermione produced a notebook from somewhere behind the chaise. "I've researched this a great deal. We take the charmed path to Avalon. According to the map on the prophecy, it begins near Hogwarts. Just beyond the Forbidden Forest. So long as we have a white witch, the path supposedly reveals itself as we go. Loosely takes us across Scotland to an island before the coast of Northern Ireland. In the Irish Sea."

"Well. How simple." Narcissa flicked a 'voila' gesture with graceful fingers. "We'll just get started at once. I will point out however that all of our magics are depleted and apparation is painfully circumspect. How shall we travel this 'charmed path?'"

"The only way there is," Hermione answered. "On foot."

"That's ridiculous," Narcissa said.

"It's custom."

"Custom is often ridiculous." Cissa replied. "Trust me. I know. And where do you propose we stay on this...customary foot journey? I find it highly unlikely the forests of Aberdeen have luxury accomadations."

"Oh!" Harry brightened. Here, he had a solution. "We've already prepared the tent."

"Tent?" The Malfoy face was not best pleased.

"Yes. We'll camp. You see -"

"Oh, no no no." She shook her head emphatically. "_You _see, Mr. Potter, I do not..._camp_."

"But the tent is charmed!" Granger defended hotly.

"And how well do you assume those charms will hold up, Miss Granger?"

Hermione blinked. "Ah. I admit I hadn't considered that."

"No camping." Narcissa was final. She sniffed once to confirm that finality.

Granger growled in frustration with the older witch, but Harry raised peace keeping palms. "Fine! Fine." He nodded. "We'll simply have to...leave the path occasionally. Stay in some muggle hotels and hostels."

"Muggle hotels?" The witch felt tricked. Trapped. She'd been played. "Hostels?"

"Muggles are keen service people," Hermione offered. "You'll like it! That's a good idea, Harry. I'll start looking some up and plotting them on our map."

"_Muggles_?" Cissa asked. She chewed at her lip. "I'm...I'm not certain."

"It's a much better option than camping," Hermione said. "And if it takes us a few miles from the path here and there, that's fine. We'll just...double back. And in the meantime, you'll get to experience all the great muggle achievements in architecture." She pulled a quill from her mass of frizzy hair and began jotting in her notebook.

"Wait." Narcissa took a deep breath. "Perhaps we shouldn't leave the path," she said. Shrugged when they showed her their surprise. "It's custom."

Harry smiled. "Well. You _are _the white Black witch here. I suppose you should make these decisions."

She glared. "Don't placate me, Potter." She sighed. "I haven't told Draco yet."

"I don't suppose he has to come." Harry shrugged. "If he doesn't want to."

Narcissa stared at the serviette in her lap. "No. I believe he does have to come." Her shoulders squared. "I shall discuss this with him tonight." Her decision was made. "When do we leave?"

"As soon as possible," Harry said. "I say tomorrow morning. Gives us time to prepare. We'll meet at Hogwarts? We can floo there. Less risky than apparating."

"I'll owl Minerva." Hermione was up and off. "And I'll get my bag packed! Hopefully the charms will hold on that, at least."

Harry watched his friend depart in excitement. He looked at his guest, who looked out a window. "Thank you," he said quietly. She scoffed. "I know it won't be easy, but -"

"Potter." She faced him squarely. "You have _no_ idea."

* * *

Draco was waiting when she returned home. He looked...worried. Half dressed and hair mussed. "Where the devil have you been?" He inspected her as if expecting to find injuries. "I was worried. The elf said you went out. You didn't wake me."

"It wasn't important." But it _was_ important. She looked away from his bare chest. "Get dressed. We need to talk."

He winced. "That's never good. What's happened?"

"For Merlin's sake get dressed before you catch the dragon pox!" She pointed up the stairs.

"Fine! Fine. I'm going." Like a petulant child. "Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"What?!" She shouted after him. He waved her off and she huffed. Knew he wouldn't make this simple. So she went to the drawing room. "Elf." The creature popped in. "Tea, please. Just for Draco."

He was still buttoning his cuffs when he came in. Sat heavily across from her. "Alright. I've gone over the worst scenarios in my head. Just...let me run them by you." She humoured him. "One. Potter, the mudblood hair and the weasel are coming to stay with us for a year." She shook her head. "Good. Two. They've decided to spare father The Kiss." She shook her head. "Oh." He looked slightly disappointed. "Three. You're going to be sacrificed on a stone at the center of some ancient circle with a knot of naked witches dancing about and chanting in Welsh." She blinked, then shook her head. "Also good." He gulped. "_I'm_ going to be sacrificed on a stone at the cen-"

"Draco." She couldn't take anymore.

"Yes?"

"We're going to Avalon."

"Oh." He slapped his knees. "Well, that's not so bad. Maybe I'll get naked witches, after all."

She blushed, but continued. "With Potter and Granger and Weasley."

"Right. Right." He nodded, clearly absorbing this news. "Couldn't we just be sacrificed, instead?"

She nearly laughed, then delivered the fatal blow. "It will be a long journey. On foot. With...a tent."

"I can never tell when you're joking, mum."

"I'm never joking."

"That's what I feared." He rubbed at his forehead. Seemed to have a rather sudden headache. "Just...one tent?"

"I thought we would take our own."

"Damn right we will. I'm not bunking with the ginger wonder."

"Of course not."

"On foot?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "Our feet."

He scowled. "Hah."

"I know it sounds insane…"

He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Compared to massive goblin slaughter and giant snakes eating my teachers this might be a jolly vacation, mum." Narcissa pursed her lips. He buttered a scone. "When do we leave?"

Resigned to his resignation, she delivered the rest of the bad news.

**AN: **Narcissa's telling of magic's inception - of the division of muggle and magical - is a sort of hodgepodge of myths I heard growing up, or encountered as an adult. There are hundreds of 'where magic came from' tales, but I wanted to present one that might encompass bits of all. Next chapter, a journey begins.


	4. Magic Knows Magic

They met at Hogwarts at six in the morning. No one had had their tea yet, so there wasn't much love. Fortunately, the Headmistress was a thoughtful soul, and had a cuppa prepared for the group in her office. Ron was particularly sullen - even moreso when the Malfoys produced their own charmed tent.

Arms crossed, he glared at Draco. "Too good to bivouak with the likes of us, Malfoy?"

Draco crossed his legs, casually sipped his Earl Grey. "In a word? Yes."

"You fucking -"

"Ronald Weasley!" McGonagall snapped fire. "Watch your mouth! This is still an institute of learning and the office of Albus Dumbledore!"

"Sorry, Headmistress. To you, anyway." He chewed his third scone.

"I think this works out quite nicely," Hermione attempted to defuse the situation. "This way, we can have ladies in one tent and gents in another. It will be a nice change for me."

"Er…" Narcissa looked uncertainly at Draco. She was already dreadfully uncomfortable in breeches. Insult had clearly been added to injury.

"_Or_," Draco offered helpfully, "we can have Malfoys in their clearly superior tent, and mudblood hairballs, four eyed gits and unfortunate ginger blood traitors in the lesser one."

"Draco!" This admonishment from both McGonagall and Narcissa, though Narcissa was attempting to hide a smile. Attempting.

"Look." Harry turned away from Dumbledore's sleeping portrait. "We have to make this work. I don't care who sleeps where. But I can't tolerate all this nattering and insult throwing. Can't we have...a truce?"

Draco made a face of genial acceptance, nodded. "Very well. I can keep my witty and appropriate insults to myself if the ginger can keep his freckled face shut."

"Oy!" The ginger shouted.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

Narcissa touched Draco's arm. "Please, darling."

"Forgive me, mum." He'd never looked so sincere.

"I don't envy you, Harry." McGonagall tutted. She turned to Hermione. "You have the map details plotted out?"

"I think so," Granger said. She pulled her notebook. "According to legend, we'll start seeing the mist when we're close. The thicker it gets, the closer we are. I've also modified a point me charm, but… I don't know how reliable it will be now."

"I've got a compass!" Ron announced.

"Congratulations," Draco replied. Narcissa pinched his elbow. "Ow!"

"We should go," Harry muttered. "Before any members of our party kill each other." He looked pointedly at Draco.

"Firenze will see you through the Forbidden Forest," Minerva said. "Not that there's much threat during the day, but… Just in case."

"Spiders," Ron said. He looked a bit glazed over.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley." She patted his shoulder affectionately. "Spiders."

Draco shouldered the Malfoys' overlarge rucksack. It seemed their lightening and shrinking charms were holding up rather well, though Hermione suspected that was a product of Narcissa's peculiar magic. She was strangely fascinated by this aspect of the older witch, and yes - surprised. But she kept commentary to herself, sensing the strong reluctance in their stony faced companion.

For her part, Hermione carried her beaded bag, confident that it held all their absolute essentials, and left the handling of the tent to Ron or Harry. She'd hoped to see Hagrid on their way across the grounds, but school seemed relatively deserted this early in the morning. At the edge of the forest, Firenze stood waiting.

The centaur looked for all the world like a sentinel. His sleek, noble body quivered while his handsome face held greeting. "Harry Potter," he intoned as they approached. "And your brave companions."

"Hello, Firenze." They shared a firm handshake. "I hear you worked on the prophecy. Needless to say I have complete faith in all the calculations."

"I thank you." The magical creature possessed a rich baritone. He openly stared at Narcissa, who glanced away self-consciously. "The white witch. I would have known upon first glance."

"Oh?" Hermione stared openly now, as well, grateful for the excuse. "How so?"

Firenze smirked. "Beautiful to look upon. Deadly when crossed."

Narcissa smirked back. She rather liked the sound of all that.

"Or when interrupted in her bath," Draco added. She pinched him again. "Ow, mum! Damn."

"Deadly," she reminded him.

"Nearly half a day's trek through the pass," Firenze announced, turning. "But patrols are out to keep any dangers at bay. Let's go."

The pass was by far the prettiest part of the forest the trio had never seen. Leaves on all the trees were beginning to turn and fall, creating occasional showers of color. As the sun rose, dew glistened diamonds and birds magical and not began to sing. "In this place, it's easy to forget magic is waning," Hermione commented.

"Not so." Firenze replied. "Or not for forest dwellers, I should say. There is a significant decline in magical creatures here. Even the pixies and doxies are falling off drastically. And we haven't seen a unicorn in weeks now."

Narcissa frowned. "Where do they go?" She asked.

"They die, white witch." Firenze turned to her. "In ancient days, there were many like you. They lent their magic to the land. To the creatures that dwelled there. Symbiosis. But after the Great Division of magical and muggle, the elemental witches disappeared. Murdered. Or gone into hiding. Some simply chose to forget their power."

"Oh." She looked at the ground. Spoke so the rest of the milling group wouldn't hear her. "Can their power...leave them?"

His big body shifted. Hooves unsettled crinkling leaves as he leaned toward her. "You fear you've lost the very thing they've sought you for."

She could have wept with relief. With the knowledge that something - someone - understood. "Yes," she whispered.

The centaur righted. Laughed loudly. It was a bass rumble. "Fear not, tiny thing. This whole forest feels the energy within you. I certainly do." He slapped at his chest. "Magic knows magic. And the earth we spring from… It calls you back. Come." He nudged her toward the bickering group a few yards away. "You'll know what to do when the time comes. In fact, I believe you already do."

And she did. Her son caught her eyes as they approached, made a rude gesture to Weasley's turned back. She tried hard to smile.

The bickering continued long after they'd left the forest's boundaries. "Are you sure this is the right direction?"

"Yes, Ron. I'm certain. The point me charm is working fine."

"But what if it isn't? What if we just think it is?"

"My feet hurt already."

Narcissa scratched at her thighs. The practical breeches she'd chosen to wear were rubbing. "Don't complain, Draco. It's unbecoming."

"Yeah, Malfoy. Shut it."

"You shut it, Weasel. I don't even know why you're here."

"I'm a hero of olde, you pasty git. Why are _you_ here?"

"Both of you stop!" Hermione scratched at her temple. "You're giving me a migraine. We're all here for a reason. The prophecy called for it."

"I don't recall it saying anything along the lines of 'bring a sallow, sullen twat with nothing nice to say about anyone.'"

"Insult my son once more, Mr. Weasley, and I shall gladly let magic die for all eternity before I let your kind bastardise it another damned day." Narcissa was mistress of the threat. Weasley backed down. "And Draco?" She added quietly to her son. "Stop sinking to his level." Draco backed down, too.

"Ron, stop letting him goad you," Hermione said with a sigh. She consulted her map frequently. Held her wand aloft occasionally for a reading. Hours passed with relative peace. All seemed well enough, but daylight was waning. "I'm getting hungry."

"Me, too." Harry stopped. Scanned the area. "This looks like a good place for a camp. How was our progress today?"

"About 30 miles." Hermione folded her map. "Not bad, but that's with all our charms working well and no significant breaks. I can't guarantee that sort of progress every day."

"True." Potter began rifling through their rucksack. "And nice weather withstanding. Looks a bit cloudy on the horizon. Plus I think we could all use a couple of breaks here and there."

"Pick a spot, mother." Draco was glad to drop his load. Even with lightening charms it was heavy enough. His shoulder ached and feet throbbed.

"This is fine, darling." It was an isolated little clearing with a bit of canopy. Narcissa's feet hurt, too, and she was hungry. In no mood for real estate hunting. And grudgingly she could accept the safety in numbers rule. She watched as Draco set about erecting their tent. It was easy. A scale model of a thing that bulged to life-size with a wand flick. Similar to, if larger than, the tent Potter and crew were currently enlarging. They spent very little time organising camp before they surrendered to rest.

Harry made his way over to where the Malfoys sat on a mossy log. "We're going to prepare a bit of supper. If you'd like to join us."

Draco and Narcissa looked at each other. Narcissa, keen to keep peace and make this trip as tolerable as possible, gestured to their bag. "We shall share," she said.

"As you wish, mother." Draco's expression read dread, but he dove into the seemingly bottomless sack anyway.

The trio looked up from their crackling fire in mild surprise when the Malfoys approached. But Harry was quick to enlarge two extra camp chairs. Narcissa offered up a China dish. "I brought dessert," she said. "Mousse."

Draco also balanced a covered silver tray. "And this is um…"

"Lamb." She prompted.

"Lamb," he finished. They stood awkwardly holding the platters.

"Lamb? Mousse?" Hermione asked. "Seriously?"

Cissa bristled. "Is there something wrong with lamb and mousse?"

Harry was chuckling, shaking his head. "Not a thing. We er...we have beans."

"Excellent!" Narcissa forced a smile. "Protein." She pulled her wand and with a wave their trays levitated smoothly. Draco pulled plates from his rucksack and soon, the awkward group was eating like kings from fine China around a modest fire.

"I hope red appeals." Narcissa said, producing a bottle of wine from their magical sack. "If not, I believe there's a Sauvignon blanc in here somewhere…"

"Red is fine!" Harry grinned. Ron shook his head and Hermione could no longer contain her own laughter.

"Draco, where are the glasses?"

"Um. I didn't bring any."

"No glasses?" Narcissa huffed. "How provincial."

"I'm not above sharing a bottle," Hermione smiled. Narcissa looked slightly green at the thought, but popped the cork just the same. She even took the first swig. Handed the bottle to Granger next. "To Avalon," the girl toasted.

"To Avalon." The group echoed unharmoniously. And after a few rounds of the Malfoy bottle, the golden trio was snickering.

"What's so funny?" Draco asked, defense raising his dragon scales.

"Just...camping with Malfoys, I guess," Hermione answered.

"We don't camp," Narcissa said, wiping daintily with a serviette.

"You told me." Harry rose. "I think there's some coffee in the tent. I'll get it. For...dessert."

"I like mousse," Ron attempted geniality.

Narcissa gave the Weasley an undisguised once-over. "I would never have guessed."

"Yeah." Ron shrugged. "Fast metabolism."

"Mmm." Narcissa nodded. "Draco, darling? Get another bottle."

Bellies were full. Mousse was devoured. Firelight flickered on faces relaxed by wine. The campsite smelled pleasantly of burning wood and brewed coffee. Ron sipped noisily. Narcissa cringed every time.

Of course it was Granger who couldn't simply accept the quietude. "So. Have you two never camped before?"

"Not like this." Draco waved at the trees and possibly a bug. "I mean, at the Quidditch Cup. Doesn't that count?"

"I've seen your tent at the Quidditch Cup," Harry said. "No, it doesn't count."

"Huh." Draco leaned back in his camp chair. "Nice view." They all looked up. The stars were bright above them. They stared peacefully for a while. Narcissa felt Draco's gaze on her profile. Tried to ignore it.

"Can I ask a question?" Ron demanded suddenly. Lazily, the companions regarded him. "Does anyone really know what we're supposed to do when we get to Avalon? I mean, all this talk about dragons and all. Is it going to be like the Goblet tournament?"

"Doubtful, Ron." Hermione answered. "Don't you know the legend of the dragon? Of the god and goddess?"

"The Great Dragon, yeah." He made a rather good dragon shadow puppet against the white canvas of their tent. "He's at the center of the earth. But what does he have to do with the god and goddess? Aren't they separate myths?"

"_Not_ myths." Narcissa insisted, annoyed. "Doesn't anyone at Hogwarts teach the children about the old magic?"

"Not really," Hermione admitted grudgingly. She looked at Ron. "The god and goddess… They sort of control the flow of magic. Direct it. In conjunction with the seasons. See, in the spring, the goddess is fertile. She and the god...conceive a child together."

"Right. Everyone gets preggers in spring." Ron nodded.

Granger rolled her eyes, saw Narcissa watching her expectantly. "Well. In the summer, they languish. And in the fall, they make the harvest. The god dies, and in the winter, the goddess rests until she gives birth. Then it all happens again. In a nutshell."

"Quite a nutshell," Narcissa groused.

"But...if the god dies, how does it happen again?"

"The goddess gives birth to him," Hermione explained as if this was everyday knowledge.

Ron's forehead creased. "So...the god is the goddess'...son?"

Granger waved a hand. "Technically."

"So he fucks his mum?!" Ron groaned. "That's disgusting."

Narcissa shifted uncomfortably.

"Disgusting if it's _your_ mum, Weasley," Draco stated.

"Don't insult my mother!" Ron rose from his seat. Hermione grabbed at him. "She's a better witch than you'll ever know. I think how she handled your aunt attests to that fact."

"Ronald!" Hermione shouted. Even Harry was standing for damage control, realising Ron had gone too far. "Calm down, mate," he urged.

Draco's eyes narrowed, but he remained in his seat. "I'm not about to begin comparing lineage with you Weasley. After all, my family basically made yours. And now it looks like we can break it just as easily."

"Without magic we're all broken, you selfish fuck," Ron spat, shrugging off Harry's hold. "And if my wand wasn't nearly useless right now, I'd show you the better lineage."

"Enough!" Hermione snapped. Everything was going so well…

"Perhaps I'll take you up on that offer after _my _mother restores that magic, Weasley." Draco had the capacity to make 'Weasley' sound like a profanity.

"Stop it now." Calmly, Narcissa ended the entire confrontation. She stood gracefully. "Draco. Go to our tent, please. I'll be along soon." She watched him walk to their tent, caught his hurt glance before he passed through the flap. She sighed, and turned to the remaining group. "I'll make no excuses for my son's behaviours. Or my own. We are...unaccustomed to company. And I will confess I'm uncertain and reluctant in this endeavour. Please, give us some time."

The trio was quiet in reply, absorbing her words. She walked through a copse of trees nearby and disappeared into the darkness. Hermione rubbed her temples. "Amazingly eloquent, really. I must say she's a well-spoken witch."

"You mean bitch," Ron muttered.

"Don't." Harry scowled. "Don't say that. She's probably the saviour of magic. And I doubt highly she wants to be doing this. I know the feeling." He stood, too. Made to follow Narcissa, then turned back to his companions. "Stop with Draco. No more teasing."

Ron bowed. "He bloody starts it!" Hermione rubbed at his arm to calm him.

"I don't care who starts it!" Harry sighed. "If you don't respond, he will lose interest. And perhaps we can all learn to...get along. For magic's sake." He heard his friends talking when he left them. Heard Ron's defensive whinge and Hermione's gentle placation. She was good with Ron. She would handle him.

Harry stumbled upon the white witch nearly literally. He'd tripped over a fallen tree and rolled down an embankment into a stony clearing. When he stood, dusting himself off, he saw her staring at him. "Hi," he said awkwardly. "I was um…"

She was sitting on a stump by a shrunken creek. The bed of it was moist in the moon's glow, but its flow was diminished to a trickle. "Can I help you, Mr. Potter?"

"I just wanted to check on you." He gestured up the embankment. "Dangerous around here. We should stay close to the camp. And - you know - together."

"We _are_ close to the camp," she defended. "And I managed to avoid any dangers during my wandering."

He came to stand near her. She was staring into the little pool of water, chin on drawn up knees. "Are you afraid?"

She cast him a very annoyed glance. "What is there to be afraid of, Potter? We aren't even certain of our purpose yet. Much less what we have to fear."

He nodded. "You're right. But I didn't know any of that, either. And I was afraid."

"You were afraid of Voldemort," she corrected. "Of Tom Riddle. Of Death. And yes, then I was afraid, too. But this is different. This is Avalon. The home of magic. Why should I fear that?"

She had a point. And after all… "Well. You _did _lie to the Dark Lord's face. And I suppose anyone capable of that is capable of...whatever waits at Avalon." Harry looked back to the camp. He didn't see her pained expression flicker. "You should get some rest. Hermione will be kicking us awake before light. Good night."

He was a few feet away before she spoke. "Mr. Potter." He stopped. "You spoke of me as a heroine at our trials. There is a difference between desperation and bravery."

He didn't look back at her. "Is there?" The parting shot left her blinking. Thinking.

Draco was awake when she returned to their dark tent. He was standing over a trunk, shirtless and in sleep pants. She looked away for a moment, but felt his stare, his hurt. "I'm sorry I scolded you," she said softly. "But we really must try, darling."

"I know." His wand lit a charmed candle and the tent glowed brightly. "I'm sorry, too. Old habits, I guess."

She smiled. "Well. Weasley _is_ an idiot. But he must have some purpose."

"Comic relief?"

She gave him a genuine laugh. Took his face in her hands. "Perhaps." He was handsome in the candle's light. So damned grown…

He took her hands from his face and held them. "You're cold, mum."

"It's fine." He caressed her fingers and she drew them away. "I'll warm up in bed. Which we should visit soon. I'm informed we'll leave before dawn."

"Joy," Draco groused. He watched her make way to her portion of the tent. It was curtained off into 'rooms.' "Good night, mother."

She turned, already untucking her cotton blouse. "Good night, dragon."

His forehead creased as her curtain closed behind her. The endearment piqued something in his brain he couldn't quite pinpoint. He took up the candle, and opened his own curtain.

**AN: **Again my history of magic lesson is a bit of an amalgamation. Concepts of the God and Goddess vary even among followers of the olde religions today. Various sects honour various origins. I tried to stay general so as to encompass as many beliefs as possible. I want this story to be easily relative. (Pardon the pun.) Hope you're still enjoying. Or at least tolerating. Let me know.


	5. Damn the Trousers

True to Potter's warning the Granger girl woke them all just before dawn with a clever if completely irritating rooster alarm spell. In her comfortable down cot, Narcissa heard Draco cursing. She grinned and hugged her pillow tighter.

They took their tea in the comfort of their own tent and company, avoiding the clatter of activity next door. "Looking forward to another day of breeches, mum?"

She winced. Cinched tighter the tie on her dressing gown. "No. Damn the trousers. I'm wearing my comfortable dress."

Draco chuckled. "I wondered when you would give in."

"It's not giving in, darling," she informed him blithely. "It takes a real witch to undertake the hero's journey in a frock." She kissed his blushing cheek and whisked her wand, clearing up the tea things. "Let's dress. I'll get the tent squared."

Outside, they found the cause of the ruckus. Harry and Ron were fighting with their tent while Hermione attempted to shove a poorly shrunken chair into a tiny beaded bag. The Malfoys watched on for a moment, hiding their humour, before Draco stepped in. "Can we help?"

"Our magic's buggered." Ron said. He was sweating a bit and trying to un-knot a coarse rope with little success. "It's all sporadic or weak."

"I tried to use a drying charm on Harry's shirt and it went up in flames," Hermione said. "This is awful."

Concern was shared. Draco drew his wand and aimed at Granger's chair. "Stand back," he warned. But the shrinking charm worked...if slowly. "Damn," he said.

"At least yours is working," Harry said. "Do you mind helping with the tent?"

Draco looked at his mother. "You give it a go."

She nodded and stepped forward. Her magic was a literal whirl of activity. Strong and sure. It erased any doubt the Trio may have had about her identity as the white witch among them. And after securing their tent, she left Draco to assist with the packing and made quick work of the Malfoy tent.

"Thank you."

She jumped at the unexpected address and turned. "Mr. Weasley." She hoped her surprise sounded like pleasence. "You're quite welcome."

"I suppose we'll be relying on your magic a lot on this trip." He seemed grudging of the fact, but it couldn't be said he wasn't trying.

And she could try, too. "I don't mind." She holstered her wand. "And hopefully this will all be over soon, and we shall all have our magic restored fully."

"Yeah." He kicked a stone, then took up her neatly bagged tent. "Thank you for that, too." He lumbered away before she could say anything more.

Dawn was just beginning to pinken the sky when the group managed to synchronize. "I'll take that," Draco said, reaching for the Malfoy tent.

"Nah, I'll carry it." Ron said. "You had it all day yesterday."

"Oh." Draco drew away awkwardly. Looked to his mother, who smiled. "Er...thank you." It sounded almost like a question. He looked about, then grabbed the shrunken food bag before Potter could. "I'll just carry this then."

The three young men couldn't have looked more wary. Hermione was nearly grinning at them. "Shall we?" She produced her notebook. "Southwest. We'll push hard until lunch."

"What about brunch?" Ron asked.

"I think you already ate it," Draco spoke before he thought, and froze.

But Ron was laughing surprisingly. The group froze at the sound. "Guess that's why you're so skinny, Malfoy," he said. "You need to be faster."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Touche, Weasley."

By lunch the group was irritable and exhausted. Hermione's own concern regarding her magic had lead her to hand over the point me spell to Narcissa's care, and occasionally, the two witches paused to consult maps and notes.

They skirted a busy muggle city and avoided several small villages. It was easy travels near the hamlets, mostly field and hedgerow. At one such village, Hermione and Harry ventured in for more supplies. But they seemed to see mostly forest. The map may have been centuries old, but so were the woods around them. Enormous gnarled firs and fragrant larches. Oaks so old Narcissa was certain Merlin himself had napped beneath them. Canopies dense and green that shielded them from the highest, hottest sun.

Despite the blisters on her heels, the older witch felt peaceful with her journey. She'd taken to lagging just behind the group, studying her surroundings. She noticed little things. Here and there a carving. Celtic knots in a tree's trunk or a Gaelic swirl on a stone's face. If the others saw these symbols, they didn't mention them. Nor did Narcissa. A tiny part of her feared it was only her mind's eye that noticed the messages.

She felt magic here.

By the time they found a suitable campsite they were all quiet. Exhausted. They'd pushed hard, indeed. Closed nearly forty miles. By the time Narcissa erected their tent, she was knackered. Ron raided the food stores, took on cooking duties. Again the Malfoys contributed wine. Soon, they ate Ron's stew and drank, little interested in conversation this evening.

Hermione was particularly quiet, sipping her coffee and scribbling in her notebook. Her face wore its studious expression, so the group left her alone.

"Ron." Harry broke the evening's pall. "The stew was really good."

"Thanks." Ron grinned.

"It _was_ good," Draco admitted. They all looked at him, surprised. And he continued to surprise them. "Well. I hear that...I hear your mum's an ace cook. Perhaps you inherited the talent."

Ron mulled the compliment, still leery of a hidden insult. When none came, he accepted. "Yeah. She is. I sort of grew up helping her out in the kitchen."

"That explains it, then." Draco nodded sagely. "Which is great, considering I hear Granger's pants in the kitchen."

There were snickers. Hermione looked up from her notebook with a bemused scowl. "Thanks, Malfoy." She sniffed. "I'm getting better."

Harry looked doubtful of that.

Narcissa took advantage of the comfortable quiet. "I think I'll have a bath before bed." She touched Draco's shoulder as she rose. He smiled up at her.

"Did you say bath?" Granger asked.

"Yes." Narcissa turned. Awkward reluctance. Draco watched her expectantly. He'd made gestures, after all. Why shouldn't she? She cleared her throat. "We've a tub. I could...heat some water for you, if you like. Miss Granger."

Hermione looked alternately desperate and hesitant. "Er…"

"I imagine you enjoy a soak as much as I."

"I would _love_ a soak, Ms. Malfoy." She was nearly in tears with relief and joy. There was a scraggly camp shower in the trio's tent, but they relied on warming charms and aguamenti, and at the moment, the suffering magic made showers unpleasant at best and impossible at worst. "I'll wait until you're done, though."

"Very well." Narcissa nodded gracefully and disappeared into the Malfoy tent. Draco's brows rose. The idea of his mother putting a mudbl - muggleborn into her tub was...a bit of a shock. But the very surreality of their current situation lessened the blow somewhat, and he admired his matron's ability to compromise.

Narcissa, for her part, was also suffering from a bit of a shock. In the privacy of their makeshift loo, she cast her hottest warming charm possible and focused on the steam rising. _I can't believe I'm putting that... girl in my bathtub._ She dropped her comfortable frock. It was filthy with a day's sweat and dirt.

From a satin travel bag she selected a light blue ball and tossed it into the brass bath. It fizzed and filled the heavy canvas room with mint, lavender and tea tree. She groaned aloud when she finally sank into the drink. Felt her swollen feet and tight muscles respond immediately to the potion infused soak.

She supposed she could spare one for the Granger girl, as well. Decision made, she dipped to wash her hair, and silence the noise of life.

The group was much as she'd left them when she emerged from their tent in a heavy silk dressing gown. The wizards were bent with heads close, deep in discussion over quidditch, while Granger seemed absorbed in her notebook. Cissa coughed lightly. "Miss Granger? I'm done."

Hermione blinked, roused from her study. Her smile faltered when she walked past Narcissa into the Malfoy tent. "Thank you so much," she said. Narcissa just nodded.

She tried not to be gobsmacked when she enountered the tent's en suite. After all, these were Malfoys. But the bath touched her. It wasn't just the offer, though that itself had bridged a gap. And it wasn't just the steaming hot water that had no doubt been freshened just for her. Nor was it the bath bomb fizzing and promising relief.

It was the combination of all those things...and a knowledge Hermione was currently clutching like a secret. She felt emotional. Blamed exhaustion. But the soak was as bloody brilliant as she'd hoped it would be.

She cooked in the steam, happily listening to Narcissa bustling about just outside. The canvas walls were relatively thick, but not charmed for silencing. Obviously, the white witch was preparing for bed, and Hermione had no intention of overstaying her welcome. She washed with a thick flannel and dried hastily. She dressed in pyjamas decorated with dancing cacti - a gift from Luna Lovegood - and gathered her cast off clothes.

In the tent's main room, she found Narcissa curled in an overstuffed chair and reading by candlelight. "That was quick," she said, eyeing the wet-haired guest.

"You need to sleep," Granger replied. "We're exhausting your magic."

"It's not so bad." And it wasn't. Truth be told, Cissa felt her magic was stronger than ever.

"Well. Thank you for the bath," Hermione said again. "And the salts were tremendous. My feet feel brand new."

"Excellent." Narcissa closed her book. Studied the girl for a moment. The way she shifted her feet about. The way she bit at her lip. _Why the devil am I asking… _"Are you troubled, Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked away. "No." Then she closed her eyes. Looked back to her waiting hostess. "Yes."

"Why so?"

Granger sat on the edge of a cushioned bench, back to a small table. She wasn't certain how to address the issue. "You see...I've been studying the prophecy. Comparing references. Considering translations. And...and I think I've found something. A - a clue to your ultimate purpose at Avalon." She closed her eyes again. "I don't know how to say it. And I could be wrong! I hope I'm wrong, in fact." She was babbling. She was aware she was babbling. But Narcissa's expression hadn't changed, so she couldn't stop babbling. "It involves you and Draco."

"Don't." Narcissa interrupted. There was no malice in her voice. No panic. "Please don't, Miss Granger."

Hermione regarded the witch. Her bright blue eyes were wet and her freshly scrubbed face was paler than usual. "Oh my gods…" Granger breathed. "You know." Narcissa only held up a hand. Hermione's voice dropped. She looked at the tent flap, then back. "Does Draco know?"

"Does Draco know what?" The question came from Draco himself, who entered so quickly and quietly that Hermione jumped.

"Nothing, darling," Narcissa answered. Her gaze bore into Granger, who stood suddenly.

"Well. Again, I thank you for the bath, Ms. Malfoy." She could feel the hot flush of embarrassment on her face. "Draco. Good night." And she ducked from their tent, skittering barefoot into the dimming camp.

"Sorry I frightened your guest away, mother." He was already shedding clothes, not sorry at all. "But I think I'll have a bath now, myself."

"Of course, love. Shall I prepare it?" She looked away from his fast baring form.

"No." He called to her from the loo. "My magic is fine. Just a bit slow." His head poked through the curtain, wearing only a smirk. "Think it's because I've got a bit of white witch in me?"

The sound of Draco's spells. Familiar Malfoy magic. The sounds of water. Whistling. Splashing. He said something else to her, but she was already drifting. Drifting…

"Mum. I asked where you put the -" He stopped when he saw her. Curled in her favourite chair. Head tilted. Hair spilling. She was quite soundly asleep. So he stood over her, towel cinched about his lean waist, looking down. He reached out to tuck a tuft of black and white behind her ear and swallowed a lump in his throat. "Whatever happens, mother," he whispered, knowing she couldn't hear him. "Whatever happens in Avalon. I won't let them take you from me."

He bent and pressed a kiss to her temple. A lingering kiss. "Come on, sleepy witch." He lifted her smoothly into his arms. She was such a tiny thing.

"Mmmm." A sleepy murmur. Her arms went round his neck automatically. "Draco…"

He lowered her into her down bed. Her arms still gripped his neck. Reluctantly, he removed them. "Draco," she repeated. Somewhere deep within sleep. Her eyes fluttered behind delicate lids.

He leaned over her. Arms braced on her cot's frame. Her profile in darkness was silver. Her lips looked wet. "Narcissa," he whispered.

She slept...so he kissed her.

Kissed her wet, silver lips.

He pulled away hot, shameful and fearful. Backed from her room and into the candle's light. Still…she slept.

**AN: **A short chapter. But I'll have another mid-week as the milf's midsummer vacation approaches and I can't guarantee I'll have access to update on my usual Thursday or Friday. So you'll get the next one sooner than expected. Thanks for sticking with me on our little trip!


	6. Metamorphoses

Metamorphoses

On the fifth day of their journey, it rained. Heavily. There was 14 miles of lovely weather - if a bit warm - then, a storm endured for five more miles. There was lightning after a time, and the crew decided they would be safer within a tent. They pitched the Malfoys' white canvas affair, and Narcissa cast wards to protect them.

Once inside, warming and drying charms left the witch tired. She sat in her favourite chair while Draco prepared a tea. "How far have we to travel, Miss Granger?"

Hermione shrugged. "I wish I knew exactly. At least 30 miles. Perhaps 50 at the most. And then, we'll have to cross the Irish Sea."

"And how will we do that?" Ron asked. "I didn't bring my swim trunks."

"If legend serves, there will be a ferry for us."

"Faeries?" Draco piped up. "I bloody hate faeries."

"Not that kind of fairy, darling," Narcissa said. "A boat. To Avalon." Draco blushed a little.

"I didn't think wizards - or men - were welcome at Avalon," Harry said. "Will they allow us onto the island?"

"Well, we're in the prophecy," Ron pointed out. "Isn't that like an invitation?"

"There's no way I'd let some boat carry my mother off without me," Draco said. He handed Narcissa a cuppa. "And I think we should stick together, anyway. I say if they don't take all of us, they don't get the white witch."

"Yeah," Ron nodded. "I agree." No one commented on the shocking occurrence of Malfoy and Ronald agreeing. The last several days had brought a semblance of camaraderie to the group. Or perhaps it was just routine and grudging acceptance. Whatever the case they'd not argued.

Hermione was peering through the tent flap. "It looks like it's going to rain the rest of the day." She sighed heavily. "There goes the rest of our travel."

"I won't complain," Harry confessed. "I'm dead on my feet. Ron? Let's get our tent up. We'll camp here."

Draco stood with Ron. "I'll help."

"Sit, Draco." Narcissa tugged at his sleeve. "I'll take care of it. Start unpacking. I'm starved."

"Yes, mother."

Truthfully, her magic had been bristling all day. She felt charged, as if each lightning strike somehow bolstered her energy. Perhaps they were close to Avalon. She could feel the very earth insisting magic was close.

So it was no great surprise when Potter's tent rose with barely a wand flick. The young wizards watched open mouthed when the witch experimentally stowed her wand in her dress. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back. Quite a sight in the pouring rain - her hair running rivulets of light and dark down her back. Grey frock beginning to cling, to mould her svelte body. She snapped her fingers and wards shimmered like waves of fire, hissing against rain drops.

As if guided by something beyond her will, she dropped suddenly to one knee and placed a palm flat on the muddy forest floor. A whoosh of swirling air - invisible fire - static and heat and the ground was dry beneath them. Potter and Weasley stared on agape as she rose. She trembled, breathed deeply and seemed to calm herself.

Hermione burst through the Malfoy tent flap. "What's happened?" She asked, frightened. "I felt something -"

"Bloody amazing!" Ron interjected. He was grinning, clearly impressed, pointing at Narcissa. "She did this…" He gestured wildly here and there. Dropped to his knees. Harry smiled at his friend's antics, but the awe wore on his face, too. "Hermione it was incredible! No wand or anything!"

Hermione's expression changed as well; from worry, to humor, to wonder. She approached Narcissa slowly. "Are you alright, Ms. Malfoy?"

"I'm well, Miss Granger. Just…" She shook her head, slightly overwhelmed herself.

Hermione touched her shoulder in concern, and drew back as though burned. "Gods! You're covered in static electricity!" But the girl was grinning. "That's...that's amazing!"

It was the first elemental magic they'd ever seen. The first time the earth and its energies had ever coalesced with such physicality before their eyes. The first time they'd witnessed a person directing those energies.

Laughing, chattering excitedly, they stared up at the rain sliding off of their wards, evaporating into steam. They watched an angry black sky drop rain in buckets and throw thunder everywhere around them, but not _on_ them.

It made for a contagious joy. Narcissa, calming, felt her own smile spreading. And she felt eyes, as well. She turned to see Draco leaning against a corner of their tent, smiling lazily at her.

Smiling as if he'd known all along…

The crinkle of strong magic was a boon to the party. Content to listen to the raging storm that could not reach them, they retired to their respective tents. The Trio was jolly, reflecting on old times and on the adventure before them. Faith restored was a powerful encouragement.

"I guess it's true, then," Ron said thoughtfully. He was eating a cheese sandwich. "I admit I didn't believe it at first."

"That Narcissa Malfoy is a white witch?" Hermione asked. "I think you just didn't want to believe it."

"Oh, come on Hermione. Would you really want to imagine the fate of all wizardkind in the hands of a Malfoy?"

Harry chuckled. Popped the ring on a muggle soda can. "I'm just glad she's on our side. It really was brilliant, Hermione. I wish you'd seen it."

"Yes, I've heard." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm certain I'll get another chance." A loud clap of thunder made them jump, then laugh. Hermione tossed Ron a soda can and raised a toast. "The Golden Trio rides again!"

The Malfoys were a bit more somber in their tent. Draco had always enjoyed a good storm, and this one was rightly impressive - even if he was protected from it. He stirred his tea and stared at his mother who stirred her tea and stared anywhere but at him. "Wish I'd seen it," he finally murmured quietly.

"Hm?" She had to look at him. Then looked down again. "Oh. That. It really wasn't -"

"I felt it, mum. _In here._" He gestured to the firmament. "And for a second it felt like the ground was going to explode. Granger thought we were under attack by something." He chuckled. "You should have seen her face."

Narcissa smiled. "I can imagine." She buttered a scone.

Draco was still staring. She was still avoiding. "You looked...different." He said, stroking his chin. "Like some other witch almost."

Now she looked up. "What do you mean?"

"I've just never seen your face like that before. Or your eyes. You looked so...alive, mother."

"Are you implying I normally look dead, Draco?"

He didn't fall for her ploy. Shrugged off the attempt to defer. "You looked beautiful."

She swallowed a heavy lump. Knew that her pale skin flushed at his innocent compliment. But it was hard to take in stride. "Well. I'll keep 'drowned rat' in mind next time I have to plan my wardrobe."

Draco set aside his spreading knife. Looked down at the rustic (for Malfoys) table. "Mother…"

It was the first time she'd seen him appear genuinely troubled since their adventure began. "Yes, Draco?"

He didn't look at her. "I've been...worrying. About the prophecy."

She felt her throat threaten to close. The tightening strained her voice. "Worrying how?" He couldn't know. Couldn't even imagine…

"I'm afraid what will happen to you there. At Avalon."

She was shaking. Must have been the chill. Or the remnants of insane magic coursing through her form. "I have no fear of the witches at Avalon. Nor should you."

"But all that old magic, mum." He tortured a scone corner with his thumb. "What if...what if you're to be sacrificed or something?"

She breathed a sigh of relief. Deep relief. Allowed it to translate to humour. "You were serious that day!" She accused on a laugh. "Oh, Draco. These are not witches to shed blood."

"You don't know that. You even said you don't know -"

"Well, I know they aren't going to kill me!" She assured firmly. "Or you. Or anyone else."

His forehead was creased. She could tell she'd not fully allayed his fears. But he was trying for her sake. Always for her sake… "Not even Weasley?"

She grinned. "Well. Perhaps Weasley." Her fingers hesitated, then stretched to his. She took his hand. "And perhaps you'll get your naked dancing witches, after all."

His laugh was empty. "I'd better."

In time, the storm gave way to rain. The camp was silent. Draco slept. Narcissa could see him on his well appointed cot, face relaxed, chest rising and falling smoothly. She looked at him for so long, he became a thing she saw through. She was tired, herself. Beyond exhausted, really. But something kept her wakeful. Called to her. A thing she could not voice. But she suspected it was Avalon.

She suspected they were closer than they thought.

Nervous energy drove her from the tent. She stepped out of her shoes, wanting to draw as little attention as possible. Her wards were still in place and powerful. She couldn't recall the last time she'd cast such strong wards, or if she'd ever. Hidden behind their tent, she twisted her hair over one shoulder and scanned the grounds. Greenery and the black soil of fertile forest. And yes, a little sprig of wild violet.

There were buds, but no blooms. She checked for audience and finding none, knelt. Her fingers brushed the delicate leaves. A bud bobbed. She saw the bright purple blue in her mind's eyes and closed her physical ones. She felt the hum of the earth beneath her. She thought of Draco, thought of the great dragon coiled in the core of all, imagined its breath coiling in her own core, let it translate to the heat hemmed in her hands.

The heat flowed. There was an almost frightening spiral ribboning her spine. She let it swirl out of her control. Saw the little blue flowers opening as if in a dream. And when the magic ebbed, when her eyes opened...she saw the little blue flowers opening.

She could have sobbed. Perhaps she did, because she felt the moisture telling on her cheeks. A very fleeting memory of childhood reprimand threatened to surface and she tamped it. Couldn't be of any use with the past pressing into the present, particularly if that past threatened this budding power within her.

_How could I have forgotten something so remarkable? _

But shame was an oppressor she knew, and guilt an annihilator. She let go the resentment, and reached for the future. She stood, dusting detritus from her skirt. She had a purpose at Avalon, and however frightening it may be, she felt it becoming more necessary. Felt it - cliched as it was - to be her destiny.

But it was Draco's destiny, too. And her heart hurt with the weight of it.

In the neighboring tent, she heard their companions laughing, talking. Narcissa Malfoy could never have imagined it, but she was glad they were there. Each of them, in their own unlikely ways, had some strength. Something beyond value. They were special. Magic knew so.

Potter was the glue. The believer. Wisardom's Lazarus. And Granger...with her bookish knowledge and unfailing logic. Perhaps she put the wit in witch. Narcissa was glad Bella hadn't killed the chit. And Ronald. Well. He was quite good at carrying heavy things. Not to mention his stew surpassed edible. They would do, she supposed. The motley crew.

They met for supper that evening, all secretly wondering if this wouldn't be the last meal they were forced to share. All secretly - surprisingly - hoping _not. _The storm had abated, leaving behind a gentle rain to remind them.

"I'm just concerned about all the time we've lost," Hermione was complaining. "I feel like a little extra push tomorrow couldn't hurt us."

"Hermione. I've got blisters the size of Hagrid's thumbs. Trust me, your extra pushes hurt us." Ron.

"I wish we knew for certain that we were on the right path." Harry. "I'm going to be really upset if we find out we're in bloody Wales or something."

"Didn't Granger make the map?" Draco asked. "She's the brains of this operation. Granger, you didn't have the book upside down, did you?"

"Haha, Malfoy," Hermione groused. She flipped some pages, holding her fork between her lips. "I know we're on the right track. I just really hoped we'd be seeing some mist by now…"

"Soon." Narcissa, who had been quiet all evening, spoke. They all looked at her expectantly. She shrugged. "Just a feeling."

They retired that evening in quiet, pensive moods. Draco, who had napped the better part of the afternoon, was chatty and awake. But his mother seemed more at the whims of the earth's clock than usual. It was dark, and her eyes were heavy with sleep.

"So apparently Potter's been shacking up with the Weasle's sister. Ginny. The youngest. The ginger menace was ribbing him about it over dinner. And I don't know if you caught it, because I think you'd gone to get the decent silverware, but Granger actually _kissed_ Weasley. On the lips, mum." Draco shuddered. "Unbelievable. I mean, I guess it makes a sort of sense. You know. He's a ginger blood traitor and she's a mudbl - muggle born know it all with horrid hair. Stands to reason they'll fill Hogwarts' hallowed halls with truly ugly magically stunted spawn someday." He paused. "Mother?"

"Mm." She roused herself, left a thin trail of attractive drool on the arm of her chair. "I'm listening."

"No you're not." Draco stood. "Come on. Go to bed. I'm certain we'll be drummed awake at the goddess' unspoken hour." She chuckled, let him lead her into her partition. She dropped her dressing gown, too tired to care about the nearly sheer shift beneath it, and smiled as Draco turned down her bedding. "Here." He motioned her into the duvet, and she noticed his eyes lingering over her form. She was too tired to consider the plausabilities in the action.

He cleared his throat nervously once she was tucked. Sat on the edge of her cot. "Do you really think we're close to Avalon?"

_So sleepy… _"Mmhm."

He nodded. Stroked fringe out of her closing eyes. "Good. I'm ready to go home. For things to be normal again."

His statement brushed her consciousness. She watched him through barely slit eyes. He lingered in her curtain for a moment, then went to his own room. He left their curtains open, so she could see him past the tea set on their table. He shone in the dim light, undressing. Muscles flexing. Manlike. Godlike.

Her son.

To her weary mind, his skin looked like scales.

**AN: **Next up, mist!


	7. Mist

Narcissa awoke well before the annoying rooster alarm charm. It was the unsettling sort of wakefulness that bespeaks something...off. It was still rather dark. No dawn light was penetrating the white walls of their tent yet, so she dressed in the dimness. Draco slept on soundly in his room. She paused looking in on him before continuing outside.

Her breath caught and she froze in the tent flap.

Mist. Thick and white and rolling across the ground. Beautiful, but frightening in its singular density. She couldn't even see the forest floor.

"Oh my gods." The quiet exclamation came from the neighboring tent flap. Cissa looked over to see Granger standing there, wearing an expression similar to her own.

"Indeed," she replied.

A smile spread on the young witch's face. "This is excellent!" She exclaimed, stepped into the roiling fog and promptly stumbled in a hidden hole. "Whoa!" She righted herself. "This means we're close."

Narcissa grimaced. "I suppose so."

"What? What's happened? Who's dead?" Draco staggered through the tent flap, nearly flattening his mother. He caught her by the elbow, and flinched from the mist. "Good gods! Granger, what have you done?"

"Haha, Malfoy." Hermione deadpanned.

Ron was next to burst from their tent, shirtless and flustered. "Is everything alright?"

"Gah!" Draco shielded his eyes, clapped a hand over his mother's as well. "No. We're all blinded now by your bright freckled torso, Weasley."

But Ron was unfazed by Draco's tease, too distracted by the pervasive mist. "Well, Hermione. Looks like you got your mist." He slipped his tee over his head. "So we're on the right path?"

"Absolutely." Granger couldn't have been more pleased. She loved being right.

Harry was the last to emerge, already having taken in his friends' conversation. He wasn't surprised to see the mist, leisurely sipped his tea. "Good work, Hermione." He rubbed her shoulder. "Question becomes, how will we navigate through this stuff? Is it going to get worse the closer we get?"

"Er…" Hermione scrambled for her notebook. "According to legend, yes. But I imagine there's some way we can -"

"Mother." Draco spoke, and the group looked to the white witch.

She'd stepped away from their tent, into the clearing. Her wards had finally worn away, and the wet ground soaked through her slippers. But the mist rolled away from her feet with each step. Evaporated in swirling wisps that nipped at her frock hem. "Oh," she murmured. Her lips parted in wonder, and she raised her hands hip high experimentally.

The mist rose, too. Obeyed her unspoken beckon. She chuffed light, delighted laughter, and the group joined her. "That's incredible," Draco said. When he stepped in her wake, the mist rolled behind him, seemed to push at his heels. He watched it with a smirk, reached for his mother's hands. "Amazing."

She smiled up at him, truly amazed herself. Truly gratified. Recognizing the simplest truth at last - that she was this thing the mist would obey. And then she remembered her other truth, and her smile faltered. She looked nervously away from Draco's eyes.

Potter cleared his throat. "Well. I suppose that answers my question. Dilemma solved. Shall we break camp?"

It was difficult to break camp with the mist. It seemed almost curious, swirling around each member of the camp as if asking them a question. Stakes were dropped. Shoes were missing. After much griping, Narcissa took charge of the situation. With a tolerant shooing motion, she dispersed the troublesome fog. It never disappeared, but did linger at the edges of the camp, creeping slowly back for her to banish again.

"Seen my shoe yet?" Ron asked.

"Not yet," Draco answered. "Mist must have taken it."

"Nuisance," Weasley grumbled.

"It's mischievous," Hermione said. "Makes me happy. In an odd way."

Draco watched his mother toy with a strand of the fog at the camp's edge. She swirled her hand, watching the grey moisture rise to meet her fingers, then whisked it away. Their tent was packed. He sat on it just to stare at her, smiling softly.

When she caught his gaze, she flicked the mist with some finality. Gathered her comportment. "Shall we be on our way?"

"I um…" Hermione ventured forth. "I think you should take the lead, Mrs. Malfoy. This stuff seems to favour you." She kicked at a tuft of mist clinging to her right foot.

"Very well." Narcissa took the proffered map and the group set off.

Even with the white witch in the lead, the mist made for slow going. Not to mention their path was becoming rocky and inclining steeply. The mist followed them up, up, seemed to hide behind boulders and pounce out of ferns. They paused frequently for Narcissa to clear the fog and check their map.

But true to myth, as the hours wore on, the mist grew thicker. And when dusk descended, visibility became even more a challenge. They bumped into things. Trees. They tripped over logs and stones. Knees were scraped. Toes were stubbed. And the mist persisted. It grew slightly more stubborn to Narcissa's bidding.

Tempers were edging when Hermione suddenly stopped. "Smell that?" She sniffed. They all sniffed.

"All I smell is mist," Harry said.

"That's not mist." Hermione took the notebook from Narcissa. Unfolded the map. "That's seawater. The ocean! We _must _be nearly there!"

"Nearly there or not, it's getting dark," Narcissa said. She looked up at the greyblack sky and the beginnings of stars. She fidgeted. "Perhaps we should camp."

"No! Look!" Excitedly, Granger gestured to her map, then back to the sky. "The constellations align perfectly to the map. We're really nearly there! Just a bit further and -"

"I'm exhausted, Miss Granger." Narcissa said tightly. "And we're all aching. And hungry. I say we camp."

"But if we push on to Avalon surely the witches there will feed us," Hermione said. "And give us a place to rest. A proper place."

"You don't know that." Narcissa.

"I don't understand why you don't want to -" Although, she _did _ understand...a little. Just forgot.

"I'm tired, Miss Granger!" Cissa snapped now. "I've trifled with this mist all day. My feet hurt. I'm hungry and I'm bloody exhausted! We all are."

Hermione scowled, but backed down. "Fine." Her capitulation did not erase the frustration on her face. "We'll camp, then."

The wizards had stood aside for this confrontation. Draco had full knowledge of his mother's ire, and had no desire to cross it, while Ron and Harry had an inkling of the same. Narcissa closed her eyes for a moment, consciously calmed herself. Her nerves were afire.

Eagerly she summoned up the magic to make their final camp, but she didn't join them to dine. Instead she shut herself away in her room, feeling inclined to meditate for a time. The mist found its way in through any crack and settled around her feet. She sat on the edge of her cot and watched it swirl.

Draco gave her her time. But the ever insightful son knew she was troubled, and didn't hesitate to seek her out after dinner. "They're worried about you," he said. "I told them you were exhausted. Pushing your magic."

"I am exhausted."

"No you're not." He sat on her bed beside her. "You're worried. And that makes me worried. You said that nothing awful would happen at Avalon, but you don't really know that."

She squeezed her palms into her eyes. "Draco." A deep breath. "I can tell you with all certainty that no one shall be sacrificed at Avalon. We are needed. They shan't destroy that which is needed."

"Then what do they need us for?" He pressed.

_Tell him_, the mist hissed. "I can't!" She snapped, then corrected, mortified at her odd outburst. "I don't know, darling."

Draco stared at her. Into her. Quietly. "Very well. I suppose we'll know soon enough, anyway." Hesitantly, he rubbed her back, ignored the shudder that trickled beneath his fingers. "But listen. I would feel...better...if we all stayed together when we get there."

His expression told her he expected argument, so she surprised him. "Safety in numbers?"

His body relaxed a bit. "Yeah."

They stared. One pair of eyes attempting to communicate and another attempting to hide. Draco reached for her face, held her cheek. Narcissa closed her eyes, allowed herself to melt into the caress. "Mother…" She could smell his cool, dried sweat.

When she looked at him, his face was frighteningly close to hers. And the mist was coiling high around their bodies. Cissa flinched away from him, flicked at the mist. "Damn annoying," she muttered.

Draco looked away, defeated, and rose. "I'll let you rest," he said. "Suppose we'll need our strength tomorrow." She nodded, voice strangely absent. For a few seconds, he lingered in her doorway. Candlelight shadowed the musculature beneath the white linen shirt. But he had no more to say, and waded through the mist to his bed.

Narcissa bolted upright, tugged the tie that shut her curtain and fell back on her bed. She covered her face with her hands. "I can't."

_Coward_, the mist hissed.

"Out!" She shouted.

And the mist obeyed.

* * *

The white witch's purported theory of better visibility on the morrow was proven solidly negative. Hermione had baleful expressions as they attempted to pack up camp in neck high dense fog. Narcissa swatted at it half-heartedly, clearing it for a time. But it seemed each time it came back, it came back stronger. By the time they'd resumed their journey - with Narcissa in the lead - a silence had settled as heavily as the mist.

However disgruntled the travelers, it could be said the mist had become a commodity. It lead them. Guided them. Parted a path before the white witch and embraced her. The weary wanderers who were not lost followed close at her heels, no longer fighting the fog that ensconced them. And after a few hours of walking, the salt sea air evident to Hermione was even more prevalent, as was a distant whoosh of ocean. Excitement replaced their respective funks, but Narcissa grew steadily more nervous.

Forest had dwindled to moist stone. They were at an elevation, and suddenly, the mist showed them a drop ahead. "Woah." Narcissa halted the group, peering over an outcropping. "Look."

Hermione cautiously peeked. "Oh gods!" She turned. "This is it! Has to be!"

The outcropping was steep, but manageable. The stone was loose and the soil sandy, so they slid quite a bit, but when they came to even plain again, they were on a rocky beach and nearly giddy.

The mist closed even more densely now, as if to stop their progress. It was successful. With no clear idea how close to the surf they were, the travelers were hesitant to move forward. Hermione sat on a smooth boulder, and Narcissa promptly handed over the girl's notebook, rolling her eyes slightly.

"What now?" Ronald asked.

"What, yeah." Draco paused beside his tense and wary mother. "I thought there was going to be a ferry."

"If we're in the right place…" Cissa murmured.

"We're definitely in the right place." Hermione, invisible in the mist, offered. "Look at the mist!"

"How can I _not_ look at the mist?" Draco grumbled. He watched his mother with worry, lowered his voice. "What do you think, mum? How do you feel?"

"I feel fine, Draco." She was glancing about, still quite blinded by fog. But there was something… Something odd tugging at her senses.

"Such dedicated concern." The voice emerged disembodied. Feminine but deep. Husky. As if a part of the mist. The group huddled together, all looking sharply about for a speaker. "The mark of a devoted son."

And then, there she was.

A form emerged from the mist, seemed to solidify inside the swirl. A figure cloaked head to toe in grey, easily invisible inside the fog. It glided easily toward the tightly clustered travelers, and fingers could be seen taking hold of its hood. Long fingers, the nails pointed to claws.

Witch fingers.

The hood lowered. Narcissa tensed. At the front of the group, she drew arms up as if to protect them, or to hold them at bay. It was an uncertain gesture. And Draco's own arm raised similarly across her stomach. "Mother…"

A chuckle. "Yes. Hello, mother." She was thin-faced. Pink in complexion as though she knew the sun well. Her hair was black and thick - on top. Beneath the dark layer was a layer of cornsilk white, just beginning to show grey at its roots - roots that coiled into barely constrained braids. And her eyes glinted black, set deep beneath a heavy brow. Hawk's eyes. At the apex of her forehead, a crescent moon tattoo waned. She stood toe to toe with Narcissa, studying the slightly shorter witch.

"Who are you?" Draco demanded. But the demand wavered. He was cowed somehow by the stranger. They all were. Content to stare from behind the Malfoys.

"I'm the High Priestess of Avalon." She spoke. "Morgana."

"Not - not _the _Morgana." Granger couldn't control her disbelief.

A brow rose. "Is there another...Hermione?" She spared a glance for the muggleborn who spoke, but gazed intensely back to Narcissa. "You're late."

Cissa bristled. "We've had a very long journey," she defended.

"I speak of the time before your journey, white witch." Morgana finally turned away. Circled the group predatorily. "You knew the prophecy spoke of you. And still you languished as though the death of magic was tea and cakes."

"I -"

"I needn't hear your excuses." Having taken in the travelers, she rounded once more on Narcissa. "I pray we are not too late. Do your job."

"Wh - what?" Cissa stammered.

Morgana raised an arm briskly, gesturing to the mist that now seemed to thicken around them. "Part the mists, Narcissa. It's your destiny." A beguiling scowl. "Or at least half of it."

"I don't know how." Cissa confessed, chin rising.

Morgana sighed heavily, frustrated. She caught Narcissa by the arm and pulled, strong for her fey form. Draco stepped to follow, but Harry stopped him. "Simply tell it what to do." She stood behind Cissa, took hold of her arms and guided. "Show it where to go and tell it to go there."

"But -"

"Be the witch you are." Morgana spoke lowly in Narcissa's ear. "Do it." She stepped back, waiting expectantly. Watching.

Feeling the mist's presence thicker than ever, Narcissa closed her eyes. Recalling how she'd controlled the violets, she called upon the mist. Saw it dissipating in her head. There was some resistance. She could feel the strength of the stuff pushing back, refusing to give up its secrets. She pushed harder. Felt her arms tensing with her will. "Go," she mouthed. It swirled. She spread her fingers. Turned her palms upward.

Her head fell back. She let her magic overwhelm her the way it wanted to. Felt it swirl with the mists. A tingle erupted in her abdomen and a smile broke on her face. A little dizziness, and her muscles relaxed one by one. Her arms lowered, and when she opened her eyes, the mists were gone.

It was a clear day. Not a cloud overhead, and the beach before them smoothed to white sands. And in the hissing surf, a skiff bobbed. It was worn, grey with age and sun. Battered. Its sail was a black and tattered rag through which the sun shown brightly.

"That will do, I suppose." Morgana was walking toward the skiff. "Come along. We've tarried long enough."

Hesitantly, but by command, the Golden Trio followed in the odd witch's wake. They passed Narcissa, save for Draco. "Mother." He took hold of her elbow. "That was…" His smile spoke his absent words. "Are you alright?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm fine." Truthfully, her knees felt weak and her heart was still slowing to a normal pace. She accepted her son's supporting arm and let him lead her to their transport. Morgana watched them step into the skiff, disapproval pinching her features. Narcissa looked away from the glare.

Once in the skiff, the travelers settled onto the three available benches. Morgana took her place at the pointed bow and raised an arm. The skiff turned sharply into the surf, no wind to propel it. "Do keep your arms and hands inside the boat at all times," the helmswitch chuckled. "So many beasties in the sea…" She turned to the group and regarded them. "Tis a short journey. So ask your rhetorical questions now, please. I've little patience for such vexation."

The group glanced about, daring each other to vex the witch. Of course, Hermione was the only taker. "You can't truly be Morgana, can you?"

"I can't?" Morgana cocked her head. "You can't truly be that dull witted, and yet you asked the question. You are the brightest witch of her age. Simply not the brightest one of _my _age, I see." She looked to Harry next, leaving Granger pink and chastised. "And the boy who lived. Not such a great accomplishment. Your Voldemort was an amateur wizard at best. If you'd taken the time to remember real magic instead of your...Hopwarts parlour tricks perhaps you could have all bested him sooner, eh white witch?"

The dark eyes settled again on Narcissa. "Oh...but you've forgotten your own power, haven't you? So distracted by that husband's manipulative charms? So berated by your ignorant family's beatings and small-minded rearing?"

"How dare you!" It was Draco who spoke, who stiffened at his mother's side, began to rise despite her halting hand.

"This is how I dare!" A finger snap sent him crashing back to his seat. Morgana studied him as he settled. "You may be a god-chosen representative but don't forget your place in my presence, boy." She ignored the confusion that graced Draco's face and addressed the collective. "At Avalon you will be doubtful guests at best. We do not allow outsiders within our fold, and you _are _outsiders. Misbehave, and you will be swiftly dispatched." Her eyes flicked back to Narcissa. "Those of you who are here for the greater purpose...will achieve that purpose expediently. Yes?"

Narcissa flushed. Again, Morgana scowled. Her face softened when she watched Draco rub his mother's shoulder comfortingly. "We've arrived."

The sudden words were accompanied by a sudden halt. After a lurch, the group turned. They'd docked at a simple stone walkway leading up a small beach. The skiff balanced itself magically as they piled out. There was more mist here, settled around the upper area of the island, veiling everything within. But a village could be made out in the craggy outcroppings and rolling green hills. Stone huts. Thatched roofs. Smoke from fires rising.

And in the distance, a drum sounded, booming news of an arrival. "Welcome to Avalon," Morgana said. They stared at her, eyes and mouths agape. "Vesta?"

Suddenly, a cloaked figure emerged from the light mists. "Yes, Priestess?" A slight witch, obviously young, sporting a similar cloak and tattoo on a smoother forehead.

"Our auspicious guest have finally arrived. Take them to their lodgings and see to their comforts."

"Yes, Priestess." With a bow, the girl gestured. "Please. Come with me."

They followed almost eagerly. Tired and hungry. Exhilarated by journey's end. Exhilarated by Avalon itself.

"You come with me, white witch." Morgana called. Narcissa stopped. So did Draco. Morgana nodded to him. "You may go on with the others, dragon boy."

His face flashed pure fear and he took his mother's arm. "No. We stay together."

"Narcissa." Morgana stared at her. "Send him on with the others. We must have a word."

"Draco, please…" She turned toward him, wearing a reassuring smile. "Darling. I will be quite fine, I promise."

"But mum - "

"Go, Draco." Her tone brooked no argument. Not that he didn't want to give her one. His nostrils flared. Lip curled. But he let go her arm.

"Fine." His hard eyes cut to the High Priestess. "But she stays with me tonight. We agreed to stay together."

Morgana's smile was calculating. "Absolutely, young master." The witches watched him catch up to the others. Narcissa gave him her most appeasing expression when he paused several times to look back at them.

"Forgive him," she spoke quietly to Morgana. "He is convinced I'm going to be sacrificed in some heathen ritual."

"You've not told him his purpose." The ancient witch accused. Narcissa closed her eyes. "And you know it full well," Morgana continued.

"How was I to - "

"You've wasted so much time already, you fool!" Morgana snapped. Gestured roughly for Narcissa to follow her. "Do you think the great dragon will simply wait for you to coddle his chosen yet again? Magic itself is at stake, Narcissa! You've had plenty of time to explain."

"It is not so simple!" Narcissa panted, rushing to keep up with the priestess on a steep stony incline.

"Perfectly simple." Morgana's cloak swished with her every swift step. "Done for centuries."

"I'm his mother!"

"Yes, yes, yes." Morgana stopped at the outskirts of a stone cottage. Sea breeze whipped wisps of loose hair around her face. "So was I. I was also his sister. His aunt. I have been something to them all. It is the way of the blood, witch. You know that."

"You destroyed an entire kingdom." Narcissa seethed. "How am I to know I won't do the same? I love my son. I cannot harm him!"

"It takes a very special witch to destroy a kingdom, Narcissa. Or to build one." Morgana turned again. "I've done both." A hand flick and the cottage's thin wooden door swung wide. "This is your lodging. You'll be isolated. Preferably the two of you together, but…" She shrugged. "I suppose it remains to be seen whether the goddess' bidding will be done. Though for our sakes, I hope it will."

"That's not fair," Cissa said. Her voice shook. Tears threatened.

"Magic is rarely fair." Morgana snapped her fingers over the firepit and flames flared there. "You must do as the blood commands, witch. As the prophecy has foretold. You cannot deny your destiny."

Cissa sank into a hide-wrapped chair near the fire. Watched as Morgana set about preparing a hanging cauldron. "I'll speak to him."

"I don't expect you to _speak_ _to_ him." Morgana leveled a gaze. "I expect you to _fuck_ him. To do right by the god and goddess. To appease and awaken the great dragon. To act as the chosen pair you are." She softened when Narcissa's head bowed. Placed a gentling hand upon the white/black locks and knelt.

"I know you, mother," she whispered, not unkindly. "I know everything. Even the secrets in your soul. The dreams. Desires. And I know the secrets in his as well. This will not be as difficult as you think." She stood again, leaving Narcissa to ponder. "You should clean up. There's a basin for bathing. Ceremonial attire, please. It's on the bed. Dinner is on the fire. It should be ready by the time you've bathed. You mustn't leave this sacred space. No visitors."

"But what of Draco?" Narcissa asked.

Morgana paused in the cottage doorway, looked over a shoulder at the witch mother. "Draco will be your only visitor. And when he arrives, Narcissa, you must make a choice. Are you the witch who will destroy a kingdom? Or rebuild it?" She was gone before Cissa could fathom a reply.

The cottage was quiet. A fire crackled. Something inside the cauldron bubbled. It smelled of fresh meat. Narcissa's mouth watered. Slightly numb, she stood and made her way into the only other room. A large bed piled with furs and pillows. A swath of red material cut across it like blood and Cissa fingered it. Her ceremonial attire.

In the corner was a large stone fixture. The bathing basin. It was a hot spring, too large to have been installed. Clearly, this cottage had been built here around the steaming bath. Clearly, this cottage served a purpose.

She tried not to think of the purpose as she disrobed. Tried to forget the callous way Morgana had spoken of the purpose. The water was hot, earthen hot. She moaned as it embraced her. The stone inside the basin was smooth and beveled. Narcissa stretched on a ledge and shut her eyes.

Candles flickered to light around her. The smell of warm beeswax emanated. Outside, the mist began to gather; waiting, curious.

Excited.

**AN:** Sneaked in an update! Hope you guys are still enjoying this one. I haven't heard much from you, so I'm just going to finish it in two more chapters and move on to the next project already under construction. Read Hemingway's _The Sun Also Rises. _Brush up on your Espanol. We're headed for the Basque countryside, for San Sebastian and bullfights, for the expatriate movement that hit wizarding Britain after the fall of Voldemort. War wounds and absinthe and smut. Trust me. It's gonna be very. Oh, what pairing? Hmmmm...I'm open for suggestions.


	8. Preparing

"Malfoy. Sit. Your pacing is making me nervous." Ron groused.

"And exhausted," Hermione agreed.

Draco turned to the trio seated at a round stone table. "How can you just sit here like this? We've no idea where they've taken my mother. What they could be doing to -"

Ron interrupted. "Probably stripping her down for the great sacrifice."

"Ronald!"

The ginger shrugged at Draco's horrified gape. He stirred the stew in his bowl. "I'm just joking. You going to eat this?" He slid Draco's untouched bowl before himself.

"I'm sure your mum's fine, Draco." Harry slid the bowl back to its place. "Sit and eat. It's good!"

"It's probably poisoned with some...ancient potion or something." Draco paced again. "I don't trust these witches. And why have they just left us here?"

"They said they would check in on us later," Hermione reminded. "They know we're tired. And I can promise you this stew isn't poisoned. You should eat."

But Draco didn't sit or eat. He pulled aside a hide window covering and stared out at the green rolling island of Avalon. Up a particularly high hill. He knew his mother was there. Had seen Morgana leading her up the incline. There was a wisp of smoke rising from the stone cottage's thatched roof. Beyond the smoke plume, the sun was setting. The sky was going peach. "I need to know she's alright. I'm going out."

"Stop, Draco." Hermione stood. "Don't do this. Galen told us to stay put. She said -"

"I know what she said." He was at the wooden door already, light rays cutting through the rough hewn slats cutting his gaze dramatically. "But I don't care." He flung open the door, over - estimating its heaviness. "Gah!"

Morgana stood there, hand frozen just where the iron latch would be. "Pleased to see me?" She drawled.

"Where's my mother? I demand to see her." Draco demanded.

Behind him, Ron and Harry joined Hermione in standing. Morgana spared them a brief smile before turning a hard look on Draco. "No demands," she said simply, stepping past him. He watched her impotently, anger pinching his features. "I trust your lodgings are satisfactory?"

"It's perfect," Hermione said. "Thank you. The opportunity is -"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure." She flicked a hand dismissively.

"D'you have another cot somewhere?" Ron asked. "Or could we have our camp equipment back? There are only two rooms and -"

"You'll only need the two." Morgana noted Draco's untouched bowl and grinned. "Master Malfoy will not be sleeping here this evening." She looked at Hermione askance. "And I do believe you are accustomed to sharing a bed with this one?"

The muggleborn witch caught Ron's eyes and blushed.

"What do you mean I'm not sleeping here?" Draco asked. His shoulders tensed. As if on cue, the door opened again and four young witches peered in curiously at the travelers. They tittered, but stilled at a raised finger from Morgana.

"You shall join these acolytes in another hut." She explained. "Where they will perform the Ceremony of Preparing."

"Preparing?" Potter had come to stand with Draco, now somewhat nervous himself. "Preparing for what?"

"For a ceremony." Morgana grew impatient.

"Other than the Ceremony of Preparing?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, foolish witch. That's why it's called the Ceremony of Preparing. It prepares one for another ceremony."

"How many ceremonies -"

"Centuries of ceremonies!" Morgana snapped, cutting Ron short. "Avalon is built on ceremony. We are ceremony's mothers. But tonight only one ceremony matters and we must prepare Draco for it. Come, young dragon." She turned, clearly expecting Draco to follow obediently.

"I'll see my mother first," he said firmly.

Patience tested, Morgana glared over a shoulder. "You'll see your mother soon enough. But first, walk with me. There are...things you must know." She snapped a finger and the young witches hurried ahead. Her stare was a test. Draco stared back, and finally surrendered.

"Malfoy," Potter said. Lost. No one knew what to say, to do. To expect.

"It's alright," Draco said. "I'll be fine."

The trio clustered in the door, watching Draco depart with witchy escort.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

Morgana sighed. "Why do you ask questions which experience herself shall answer for you?" His mouth tightened. He looked to the west, to the cottage on the hill. "You shall go there soon. I promise. But first, you'll come with me."

They descended a hill. Stone steps were cut from granite and lime, softened by ages and travelers. "Time is of the essence. And your mother has coddled you like a robin's egg." Morgana said. "Tell me what you know of the Prophecy."

Draco blinked. He'd heard and read it so many times… "The magic of the land doth wane and be gone, and heroes of olde quest newly strong must recover that which from us is torn. They seek to part the mists of Avalon, but need the magic of the singular one coupled fast with the dragon sun. From past dark pitch, with future light rich, seek ye out the white black witch."

"Egad," Morgana muttered. "Sounds terribly trite when you rattle it off like that." She scowled. "But bloody obvious. Took them long enough to figure it out."

"Even my mother didn't believe it at first," Draco offered.

"Yes, she did." Morgana insisted. "Stubborn elemental bi -" But she stopped short. "Doesn't matter now. What do you make of it then, Draco?" They stepped beneath a low hanging density of oak branches. The tree itself seemed immeasurable. Draco had to bend practically double, struggling to keep pace with Morgana and the four witches ahead. "Of the...coupled fast bit?"

Draco shoved a thatch of green leaves out of his way. His feet sank into soft sand. "I suppose… some ritual involving the sun? Perhaps in the morning? Or at sunset? I was afraid it would be some…"

Morgana stopped dead. Let the young priestesses in training carry on. Still bent awkwardly, she regarded Draco with a shocked expression. "You were afraid it would be what?"

His jaw tightened. "A sacrifice."

If she hadn't appeared completely appalled, she would have crumpled with laughter. "Ohhhh, sweet goddess bless!" She groaned. Rubbed at her face as if in pain.

"What?" Draco demanded. "Is it true? Hell, it's true, isn't it?" He turned from her.

But the ancient witch caught his shoulder with long fingers. "You fools," she hissed, shoving him to face her again. The strange shadows cast on her face by leaves made stars gather on her cheeks. "_You_ are the dragon son. S-O-N."

"Ow!" He'd nearly stood, head crashing into a copse of foliage. He bent again. "Oh."

"Oh?" Morgana searched his face. "Do you understand now?"

He wanted to. He could see the urgency in this frightening witch's bearing and wanted desperately to please her. To be of help. To be anything but the ignorant inconvenience she made him feel. To see his mother… "I - I don't."

She sighed. Something approaching gentleness softened her frown. "Draco. You're chosen - no - _destined _ to be the conduit of the dragon. Of the god. And your mother is chosen to be the conduit of the goddess. The two of you are fated to fulfill the cycle of magic's rebirth. To strengthen that which wanes."

He nodded, processing. "So...we won't be sacrificed."

"Hardly." Morgana scoffed. "Draco. You and your mother are here to couple with each other. To come together intimately. As the god and goddess do."

He swallowed. "Er…"

"Idiot boy." Morgana was done gentling. It wasn't her style. She tugged at his elbow, urging him to follow again. "If you want to save magic for this world, you have to fuck your mother tonight. Do you understand _that_?"

He stumbled over a sizable stone just as they emerged from the great oak's reach. The priestess pulled him impatiently to his feet. "I - I…"

"In!" There was a cave ahead. She shoved him inside, clearly not interested in what he had to say.

It was a cave once. Now, it was a holy place. A cylindrical room carved smoothly from white limestone. It's ceiling was high enough for Draco to stand with inches to spare. There was an oaken floor laid and freshly swept. A stone table erected in the room's center. Rustic chairs surrounding all, pushed against walls.

"Disrobe," Morgana instructed.

"Wha- what?" Draco stammered, staring at the odd assortment of items on the stone table and trying to ignore the fact that four young witches were undressing around him.

"Take your clothes off," Morgana repeated kindly. Well, kindly for her.

"But -"

"Yes, yes I know you've a thousand questions." He stared at small round breasts as they bounced about him. The witches were preparing. "But we haven't time." Hands were working at his trouser placket, at his shirt buttons. So many fluttering feminine hands… "So I shall endeavor to explain as we prepare you. Acceptable?"

He focused at last on Morgana's serious face, resisted the urge to slap hands over his semi-erect cock. Breasts bobbed by. How could he be blamed? "Yes."

"Good." For the first time, the elder witch seemed to relax. Her shoulders fell as if a weight had dropped from them. "You'll now be painted in the guise of the dragon. Of the god. This is how you shall be presented to the goddess' surrogate."

"My mother," he whispered. "Ah!" He hissed when something cold touched his back. An acolyte tittered. She held a bowl of black-red ink and a brush. "Damn," Draco breathed. "Some warning would be nice."

"Yes, your mother." Morgana sat in a nearby chair. Folded a leg casually over a hide-wrapped arm. "You do understand."

Another acolyte appeared before him, this one flaunting a bowl of green-silver paint and a slimmer brush. She set to work on his front, at least allowing him to steel for the chill. "I understand I have to…" He closed his eyes. His mother…

"The thought is not completely abhorrent to you," Morgana cooed. "Nor alien." His eyes snapped open. She chuckled lowly. "Yes. I've seen your very dreams, young dragon. Your...waking dreams." He flushed hotly. "You were chosen from birth. The want runs in your veins. Both of your veins."

A goblet appeared before his face. He turned away from it. The acolyte looked questioningly to Morgana, faltering. "No. No potions. No witchcraft," Draco said.

"None offered." Morgana assured. "It's meade. Drink. You've had naught in your belly since you arrived. You'll need your...strength."

Again, the acolyte raised the goblet to his lips. He could smell honey sweet and citrus bite. His mouth watered. He sipped. "Mmm." He felt a girlish hand fall against his haunch, steadying him for paint. He started to feel a bit overwhelmed, and gladly drank again. The mead was magical without magic.

"Excellent," Morgana said. "Fassa?" She gestured to the last acolyte, waiting patiently near the table. "Smoke."

The priestess in training scrambled for the pipe on the table, packing it with green mystery. To call it a pipe was understatement. It was easily as long as the girl's fey arm, and seemingly carved from bone. Draco recognised the pure pungent odour of marijuana, but not the fragrant waft of accompaniment. "Bloody fuck," he muttered.

The girls passed the pipe amongst themselves, first. Even shared it with their High Priestess who grinned around her long, smooth toke. "We mustn't forget our dragon," she muttered, holding smoke in her lungs. "He's our hope."

The pipe appeared before him. "But…"

"Help him along, Fassa." Morgana stretched in her chair. "He's as stubborn as his mother."

And before he could argue further, the dark-light Fassa straddled her sister at work painting his thighs and took hold of his head. A tug on his hair - none too gentle - and her mouth covered his. He could not refuse the flow of smoke down his throat. The taste of something vaguely berry. The burn of rough magic. He surrendered and breathed.

"Excellent." Morgana said. Her voice echoed a bit.

Fassa's task had turned to kiss and Draco pulled away drunkenly. "Damn," he murmured. Dizziness gave way to giddiness. "That's...that's quite strong stuff." So when the wet-lipped acolyte again offered the pipe, he toked willingly.

"Enough for now," Morgana reminded. She stood leisurely, surveyed the girls' progress. They'd moved to his arms, one draping the right in silver and green, and the other decorating the left with red and black. "Good work, witches."

Draco looked hazily at his body. "Oh!" Scales. He was growing scales. He chuffed laughter. "I'm a dragon." He sipped the goblet.

"Indeed you are." Morgana made her revolution and stopped before him. "I've a feeling you'll make a proud dragon this evening." Her hand wrapped unexpectedly - certainly - around his cock and Draco lunged at the sharp pleasure, barked lust. Morgana stroked softly, gently, watched her attentions achieve the desired effect. "And a very happy goddess."

Draco groaned, grateful for the acolytes supporting him. "My mother," he whispered.

"Yes." Morgana whispered too, pressed her lips to the shell of his ear. "Your mother. Your lover. _Our _goddess." Her thumb swirled over the tip of his cock and his head rolled boneless away from her breath.

Morgana removed her hand and threw back her own head. The laugh that left her throat was thick and liquid. A loud, true witch's laugh.

Draco's bollocks throbbed. He couldn't recall ever being so hard. The acolytes, swift in their art, stepped away from him. His arms fell heavily at his side, tingling. His whole body was tingling, as if the temporary tattooing was somehow awake, crawling into his soul. Morgana's laugh raised gooseflesh and when he straightened, she stared at him.

Her eyes were glassy, nearly clear. In them, he could see centuries. "Priestess," he said.

"Perfect," she replied. A gesture. Fassa set aside the bone pipe and retrieved something else from the table behind him. Quickly, the others abandoned their tools and knelt before him. Morgana stood behind the witches, watched them with pride, with knowing. Their arms raised together, offering him…

"A mask." He took it. It was sleek green metal, polished to a high shine. Intricate scales that shifted when he turned it in the torchlight. They were tied finely with leather. The inside of the mask lined with the soft hide. "Beautiful," he said. "A dragon."

"For the dragon." Morgana urged his hands to his face, to place the mask properly. It was only a half mask, covering his eyes and ears. He could breathe easily beneath the peak of nose. Scales of silver caressed his head, wrapping. The acolytes rose. Draco closed his eyes as the mask seemed to mould to his features. He felt fingers tying straps behind his head. "There."

He felt them move away from him and opened his eyes. Other than some slight shadow, he could see clearly. In fact, perhaps the smoke, the mead, the magic somehow even _sharpened_ his vision. He took in the true beauty of the witches before him. The sisters, daughters and mother of Avalon. Their white and black hair falling glossy over pale shoulders. Their perfectly imperfect bodies. The cups of black crescent moon decorating each forehead.

"Now." Morgana spoke. Her robes sussed as she stepped aside. An acolyte draped him in silk, wrapped him emperor-style. He looked down at the emerald silk. "You know where to go?"

A nod. He approached the door, legs feeling lithe, body taut with untapped energy. A heavy thrum caught up to him, bubbled up from the earth. He touched his chest. "Is that my heart?"

Morgana smiled softly and cupped his face. "Yes. And drums. We drum for the dragon tonight, Draco. For the god and goddess. All of Avalon." Her caress turned to a playful slap on his cheek. "No pressure." A flick of her wrist and the hide flap snapped aside. "Go," she commanded.

The dragon went.

**AN: **Next? Smut. And departures. This has been so much fun for me. Thank you to everyone who's read, followed, favourited and especially reviewed. You've been such encouragements.


	9. Coupled Fast

Narcissa sat on the hide bed waiting. She'd draped herself carelessly in the red silks, not bothering with the woven ties. Out her window, she could see fires burning, dotting the neighbouring hills. She heard drums. _Felt _drums. And the thrumming of something deep in the earth.

So she waited.

When her door opened slowly, she was unsurprised. Probably Morgana, but perhaps… "Draco?" She stood to see past the half wall separating her bed chamber from the main room, held her silks closed over her nakedness, and gasped.

She would have known him had he been completely painted, completely wrapped in green. The glinting silver mask obscured his eyes, darkened them to black, but she would have known those lips in the pitch. Bowed and pouting. _Her _lips.

She stepped closer, compelled. "Dra…" But his name died in her mouth. He was another for now. "My dragon," she whispered.

They stepped together. Her fingers raised to his face, touching, learning the sharp silver scales and the soft supple skin. Her thumbs traced his lips. "Great goddess," he panted. His own hands, shaking just slightly, skated her back as though afraid she were a fleeting fairy. But he bent most certainly to kiss her.

Their same lips fit. His hands grew sure. Claws clutched in curls, tore at silk. She let him bare her, moaning into a kiss that was a claiming. Her body was afire.

A stone stabbed at her belly. She gripped it and the beast before her grunted away from her lips, drew back sharply. "Shhh." Her other hand touched his face. "It's alright." Drew him back to her lips, to her bed.

They didn't stumble once on the uneven stone floor, and when her calves hit hide, she pushed his own silks away. The firelight far and the candlelight close cast shimmer on his ink. His scale skin rippled. She traced the design on his chest. "Oh, god…"

"Yes." He urged her back, to lay on the welcoming fur, crawled over her like the animal that sloughed it. His hands worshiped, brushed her breasts until the nipples peaked and beckoned his lips. She surged beneath him, breath catching.

Her feminine ripened like fruit, swelled and split to bursting. She felt the juices flow, wrapped his back in her legs. But as if he needed proof of her readiness, his fingers stroked thigh, dipped and tested the hot wetness. "Ah," he murmured. A shared gasp. Pleasure.

Her hands held his head, exploring, wrapped around the horns. Thumbs settled on the sharp and let them prick. She hissed at the little pain, let her bleeding fingers brush his face, decorate his lips sanguine. They kissed sloppy, shared the red essence. The dragon's head was dipping, grazing her earthen body, snuffling. She nearly laughed. But when his fiery mouth settled on her yearning cunt, she bucked, grunted and whispered curses and blessings. He pushed her tolerance for tease. "Son!"

He tensed at the address, reminded of his place, his purpose. Reminded that magic was waiting. He slithered through the sweat of her thighs, all sinew. The press of his cock and the pulse of his balls reminded her, too. She nodded and drew him closer. Arms wrapping so her whole body embraced him. His shoulders curled. Hips arced and…

They cried wordless things. Words were not necessary. This ancient union lacked a language. He simply filled her like a shard of earth fracturing and she quaked. Their faults ground to halts, forbidden forgotten.

The waxing crescents of her nails gouged his painted back. Instinct told him how to fuck her and magic kept him strong. Her head was away from him, eyes clenched, abandoned to sensation. He took the fragile face in hand and turned it. Her eyes were blue as the sea that surrounded them and unashamed.

Drums drove him faster, harder. The goddess pulled him deeper. Until he could hardly differentiate her from himself. He buried his own face in her neck, smelling the iron of her, the familiar flesh and blood.

Something frightening curled. He felt it threatening to overtake him. A coil of bright and piercing magic. He whimpered in the face of it.

Narcissa felt it, too. But she knew it. The elements had awakened. Penetrated her with this young god's cock. It was the orgasm of the world ready to release. She needed him to see it, needed the dragon to see through Draco's eyes that his deed was done. "Look," she growled, voice not her own.

Her hand shoved at his jaw, pushed him upright above her. A resounding slap of her hand against his shoulder. The angle hit perfection and her teeth bared like his own. Animal. Element. God and Goddess shifted universe. The mythos patched as her fingertips curled over his teeth, into his mouth, felt the roar of his undoing.

The goddess in her elated, body wrapped in release crested against him, spine the crux of creation. She arched as the ripples wavered and her own answering roar was more like laughter. But "Yes!" She cried. Victorious.

Draco felt for a moment the burn of lava in his gut. Lower than that. Somewhere beneath the lover that writhed beneath him, somewhere beneath the crusty surface of the doomed earth. Magma boiled and the breath he expelled from his own lungs - the roar that deafened his own ears - was the fire of the dragon reawakened.

A sea rolled in, foamed then away again. A tide of something more ancient than time. Magic. It surged, flooded, quaked the ground. Its ripples were visible in the mist outside, swirling, churning, flirting. It skated stone landmarks, swirled up tree trunks, chased the nymphet acolytes who danced joyous.

The moon watched all with a knowing eye. Shouts, whoops and songs echoed the island. Fires were lit, raged high, driven by the now rampant magic. In the place of preparing, Morgana leaned in the doorway. Eyes closed, she felt more than saw the celebrations. Felt the magic return, its insistence drunkening. "Hello, again," she breathed. That tingle in her toes stretched up, up and a pure giggle (perhaps the only one ever) emerged from her throat.

She looked to the highest hill, to the destination of the new dragon. "Excellent," she whispered. "Perfect."

* * *

"Did you feel that?" Hermione shot up in her bed. "Ron!" She shoved at his shoulder, but he only snorted and shifted in his heavy sleep. She tisked and climbed over him, wrapping her shoulders in wooly blanket.

In the main room of their shared hut, she saw Harry standing at a window, holding aside the hide. "What was that?" She asked.

"Felt like...magic." Harry turned from the window, grinning. He held up his wand to illustrate. Sparks prickled from the tip.

"Oh!" Her face lit. She rushed back to her bedside, ignoring Ron, and grabbed up her own wand. That feeling of just-right was instant. "Harry it's back!" She called forth her birds and at least thirty appeared. She'd never conjured that many. "Brilliant!"

Harry laughed. Like first years, they cast favourite old spells just to see the results; the true essence of Avalon, coupled with a renewed and invigorated magic made for startling results. A (rather carelessly) cast Aguamenti from Potter produced a miniature flood that swept Ronald into their midst.

Spluttering and spitting, he stood. "What in the name of Baal?"

"Magic's back, Ron!" Hermione danced around him, then grabbed him. Kissed him.

He was grinning like a fool when she turned away again giggling. "Bloody brilliant," he murmured. Then looked to Harry with something like worry. "D'you think they sacrificed _both_ Malfoys?"

* * *

Drums strummed the hills of Avalon. Singing echoed. There was laughter and fire. Magic rolled like winds from spells cast happy. It was as if life was restored, and for the magical - it was.

But in a stone cottage overlooking sea and celebration, there was quiet. And a pair of people twined in fur.

"Did you feel it?" Draco asked softly. The first words either had spoken since…

"Yes." His fingers were soothing designs onto her naked back. She curled further into his embrace.

"Magic is back." He kissed the top of her mussed head.

"Yes." She spread her own fingers across his chest, felt his heart beating steady and strong. She was damned tired. A few feet away, silver/green glint caught her closing eyes. The dragon mask - cast aside earlier - stared at her. Under its accusing gaze, she felt the emotion overwhelm her. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Draco shifted, felt her tears on his chest. "Sorry for what? For saving magic?"

She shook her head. Propped on an elbow to regard him. "For not telling you. I knew. I knew what was expected of us and I didn't tell you. I couldn't."

He swiped a tear from her cheek. "I understand, mum. Although hearing it from Morgana was…" He rolled his eyes. "Merciless." She tried to smile. He tugged her ceremonial silks - now a blanket - up over a chilled shoulder. "Would you like me to leave?"

"No!" She answered quickly. Forehead creased. "Unless you want to leave?"

A shy grin. He played at the silk. "I was hoping you would want me to stay."

Her body yearned. She couldn't control it. "Draco." Their embrace was natural. They were mother and son. Were lovers. They were the conduits of the god and the goddess in the very home of magic. They were hope for rebirth with lust to spare.

And there were hours until dawn…

* * *

Dawn was late in coming. Or sleepers were late in rising. There had been rejoicing into the wee hours, and the event of magic's return was excuse enough to allow for lassitude. In fact, Harry Potter was lazily scratching his bum when a knock sounded on their driftwood door. He opened it to see Morgana looking far too fresh for this particular moment. "Good morning," he smiled.

"Indeed." She pushed past him, inspected their lodgings. Mead cups were overturned on the table and the floors were still suspiciously wet. Bird feathers littered the moistened rugs. "Interesting evening?"

"I think for everyone." His smile became a grin. "I take it...everything went well?"

"Obviously." Morgana looked past him at Hermione, who stood bleary-eyed in the bedroom doorway. "Miss Granger."

She nodded. "Are the Malfoys...alright?" She ignored Harry's curious look.

"I assume." Morgana cocked her head. "They are not dead, if that's what you're hedging toward."

Hermione blushed brightly. "Of course not!"

Morgana squinted at her, and so simply - Hermione knew she knew. "No. Of course not. But you were aware of that, it seems." The priestess took a deep breath. "You'll be on your way soon. All of you. We've prepared a midday feast." She was already on the way out the door. "Dress and follow the path behind this cottage to the great stone table."

"Thanks?" Harry spoke to the closing door, then turned to Hermione. "You were aware of what? Did you know about the Malfoys' ceremony?"

Hermione looked down. "It's hardly my place to say."

Harry's concern was genuine. "But...they weren't hurt in any way?"

"No." She turned away to wake Ron and dress. "Although I suppose one's definition of hurt would depend entirely upon the Malfoys. And who the hell knows with them?"

* * *

Her back hurt. Her thighs hurt. For some reason, her upper arms hurt. She rubbed them, then remembered why they hurt and flushed hotly. _Too bloody old for this..._She rolled from beneath Draco's heavy arm and flexed her toes on the smooth stone floor. Stretched, and heard pops radiate up her spine. "Oh, sweet goddess," she whispered.

"Indeed."

She gasped. Morgana leaned in the stone archway, smirking. "Privacy?" Narcissa hissed, snatching red sheath across her breasts.

"None at all." The priestess tossed her a cotton bundle. "A dress. There's a feast prepared for you below."

"A feast?" They needn't whisper. Draco slept on as if dead.

Morgana shrugged. "Reason to celebrate."

Cissa was untying the bundle. "I suppose." She glanced at Draco. Pulled ceremonial silks over his nearly revealed bum.

"Clothes for him in there as well."

"Thank you." There were probably a million things to say. There were at least a thousand thoughts swirling between witches, but it was as if they were already known, so speaking them was unnecessary.

Morgana turned in a suss of robes. "I'll leave you to bathe and dress, then. And...think. As you no doubt will."

Alone, Narcissa stared at the dress she'd unwrapped. Delicate, washed silk. Layers of it. Roughly but lovingly sewn. Embroidered with the crest of the triple moon upon the breast. She fingered it. A thing of beauty. A piece of Avalon.

"What an annoying, ambiguous old witch." The grumble came from behind her.

She turned to Draco, grinning. "She is that." His fingers traced formless designs on her back and she rose reluctantly, laid trousers across his prone form. "I'm starving. Join me for a bath?"

"I can't move," he replied. Narcissa laughed as she sank into their private spring. _I've still got it._

* * *

Acolytes were still setting the table when the travelers arrived. Harry, Hermione and Ron joined them, bringing bowls of fruit, stew and sweetened porridge to a grand limestone table. It seemed to be one carved piece - straight from a single impressive deposit of stone - crescent-shaped and surrounded by lengthy benches. Already Morgana was seated at the head of the table and nodded at them pleasantly as they worked.

When the Malfoys approached, all work stopped. Acolytes dropped to their knees and a somber silence fell. The Golden Trio, uncertain themselves in how to greet their reluctant companions, simply stopped awkwardly. The Malfoys, too, stopped - stared at the religious reception with skepticism.

Morgana chuckled. "Rise." She instructed the prone witchlings. "We are in the presence of the goddess' representative, not the Goddess herself. You'll make her blush." She stood and swept an arm to the side. A light mist tumbled. "Sit. Everyone. Eat."

There was surprisingly little ceremony to meal-taking. These witches were obviously a family of sorts. They squabbled as such, snickered, whispered, chastised and laughed as such. Narcissa sat beside Hermione, purposefully avoiding the knowing eyes of Morgana. Not that this selection was much better; Hermione's eyes were knowing, as well - though thankfully averted in gracious embarrassment. Only one awkward moment passed swiftly when Granger looked askance at Narcissa and quietly murmured, "Thank you."

Cissa paused in opening a peach to murmur back, "Don't mention it." And so between the two, it went unmentioned.

Not so between the wizards. Ron leaned eagerly across Harry to accost Draco. "Malfoy!" He whispered tightly. "Are you alright? What did you have to do? We were worried."

Draco highly doubted that. Calmly, he leaned across Harry as well. "It was dreadful. A group of nubile naked witches painted me like a dragon, fed me meade, got me high, tied a mask on me and sent me out to make love to this other _incredibly_ beautiful witch." Narcissa - shy beside her son - blushed.

"Oh." Ron looked alternately jealous and disappointed. He might have been about to inquire further, but Morgana spoke:

"Our prophecy is fulfilled." Murmurs of agreement and gratitude around. "Magic, waning these many moons, is saved. The great dragon is re-awakened, reminded of our passion. Our love." Her eyes fell on the Malfoys. Discretely, Draco's hand wrapped round his mother's. "With joy we welcomed our visitors, and with sadness we bid them adieu. But we should have them know the gratitude of the entire magical world pours into their cups." With a raised hand, she filled the silver chalices at each place setting.

Narcissa and Draco graciously accepted the excited thank you's and hand clasps that befell them. Draco recognized the sweetness of the same meade he'd imbibed the night before and felt a swell of love for the witch at his side. His mother. He looked at her and caught her returning the gaze. "Home?" He asked.

"Home," she replied. Neither were certain what they would be when they got there, but together seemed enough for now.

Acolytes produced their camping equipment, unnecessary now that they could apparate. But they would have to leave Avalon's soil before that was possible. The sacred wards, now intensified by fresh magic, would not allow apparation.

So Morgana led them down the whitewashed path to the sea they'd arrived from. Wordlessly the old witch swept the mist aside and ushered them again into the iffy skiff. On the far shore, she was kinder than the day she'd greeted them, hugging each in turn. "Boy who lived," she told Harry. "Go be the man who lives now."

He chuckled. "I will."

"Hermione." Granger looked apprehensive, but allowed the embrace anyway. "Bright witches are numerous in my world. But not so in yours." Her wise eyes softened. "Do change that."

"I'll do my best." A true Hermione smile.

"Mr. Weasley." Ron lifted Morgana from her feet with his hug. "Oh!" She patted his shoulder when he set her down. "Just...be careful out there." He grinned widely.

She was still gathering her composure when she turned to Draco. "Dragon." He nodded. There was no embrace needed. "You did well."

"Thank you." His reply was a little uncertain.

"Care for your mother. She'll need you."

"I will. Always." Narcissa smiled softly and touched his shoulder.

Draco joined the Trio a few feet away when Morgana rounded on his mother, sensing the witches required some privacy. Narcissa bowed to her elder. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Hardly." Morgana touched her forehead to Cissa's. "You could stay, white witch. You could be great here."

Narcissa glanced at Draco. "I can't."

"I know. But...a piece of you is destined to return here." At Narcissa's curious blink, Morgana settled a firm hand on Malfoy belly. "In nineteen years. She will come home."

Cissa's eyes widened with her mouth. "What?"

The High Priestess smiled. "Our future light rich grows inside you now, mother. Love her. She will do the rest."

"But -" She was too stunned for words, and Morgana backed away before more could be found.

"Farewell, heroes," she called. "Goddess bless you all." Mist enveloped her, and the group was suddenly quite alone on the foggy beach.

"Mum?" Draco wrapped an arm around Narcissa. "You alright?"

"I'm…" It was too much to process for the moment, and required deliberation. So she attempted to gather herself with aplomb. "I'm fine." She looked about at the expectant faces surrounding her. Tried to smile.

Harry cleared his throat. "Well. It's been…"

"Real." Draco finished.

"Yeah."

"Maybe we could all…" Ron shrugged. Pinkened. "I don't know. Dinner soon?"

"Yeah," Draco repeated slowly. "If you'll leave some for the rest of us."

"I'll try, Malfoy." He clapped Draco on the arm. "Ready, Hermione?" There were pops of apparation as the Trio departed.

Draco took his mother's arm. "Shall I take us home?"

"Draco."

"Yes?"

"I've something to tell you."

He took in the urgency on her face. The wetness in her eyes. He held her jaw and kissed her soundly. "Tell me at home." One more pop, and the mist devoured the space they'd left behind.

19 Years Later…

She knows the way. Needs no map to guide her. Needs no tents to shelter her. She has the stars in the sky that know her, and Mother Nature herself provides her succor in the elements. Not that the elements are any threat; she can control even those.

She traverses the miles barefoot, as she has lived most of her short life thus far. The dirt beneath her feet is what comforts her now. She misses her mother, yes; her father, yes; that odd pair - goddess chosen. But their love empowers her. It toughened her like a storm brewing, and now she knows she is cherished forever.

She knows she is strong. Her magic is pure as her blood. She is a paradox; innocent as the sea spray white in her hair, and as dark as the night sky black of it. Her silver eyes belie her sharp wit. She has her father's tongue, and her mother's discretion. She's a witch capable of building kingdoms, or destroying them. The choice is hers, and her destiny awaits greater than even she can comprehend.

She will do well at Avalon...

) O (

**AN:** Thanks for sharing my summer adventure. It was fun. Fall adventure soon to come, but for now, my thoughts turn already to Samhain. Black cats urge me to dark dalliances. Ghosts and shadows and such. I think the next tale may be a frightful one...


End file.
